Causing Effects
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Entry for two NFA challenges. Tim centered fic dealing with fallout from the season six episode Caged. How do you determine what is the "wrong" reaction? How wrong can it get before it's a problem? Ten chapters and an epilogue. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** My entry for the NFA Sun, Sea and Sand Challenge and the If You've Got a Problem I Can Help Challenge. It's Tim-centered as usual although there is a lot of Gibbs and the rest of the team is there as well. It's set about three months after _Caged_ in season 6 and there are **major spoilers for season six_, _**particularly that episode. It kind of feeds off my tag to _Caged_ which is entitled "Answering the Why" but it's not necessary to read that in order to understand what's going on in this one. I hope you enjoy it because I really like how it turned out.

**Disclaimer:** Seeing as Tim will probably never get this kind of attention on the show, it should be obvious that I don't own NCIS. I'm not making money off it and I don't pretend that any of the characters (besides my OCs) belong to me. Too bad, though. I could use the money.

* * *

**Causing Effects  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Part I: Offenses**

**Chapter 1**

Tony was really getting on his nerves today. In fact, everyone at NCIS was getting on his nerves. Tim wasn't sure why...this time. As they searched for their suspect, one Louisa Grady, he found himself staring at her file and wondering what had driven this former beauty queen to kill a SEAL. Why? How? She didn't seem the type. Tony had been making nonstop comments about her body, her face, why didn't she wear makeup anymore, and on and on. It was...annoying. Louisa was still a person, someone with hopes and dreams, someone who, when receiving the crown as Miss West Virginia, probably had not been thinking that she'd turn into a murderer fifteen years later.

The evidence was incontrovertible, however. Her fingerprints, her DNA...even her car had all been found at the scene. She had no known social connection, but there was no question that she had held the gun which had killed Sgt. Sean Grover. All that remained was to find her. It was necessary. It was just. ...but that didn't mean that Tony had to be so gleeful, so denigrating, so...so mean about it. Tim tried to tune him out, but he couldn't. Instead, he began to chew on his tongue to hold back the comments that he longed to say. ...but he couldn't stop his hands from clenching into tight fists.

_Shut up, Tony. Just shut up already._

"Is something wrong, McGee?" Ziva asked.

Tim blinked and looked over toward Ziva's desk.

"No. Why would you think anything is wrong?"

"Because you look constipated, McGee," Tony said, teasingly. "Need some ex-lax? Maybe when we catch up with..."

"Tony, shut up," Tim ground out. "The jokes weren't funny to begin with. Now, they're just stupid and make you sound like an adolescent idiot." He stood up. "Excuse me."

There was a silence behind him that was rather satisfying. Anything to get Tony to shut up. When he returned from the restroom a few minutes later, there was a strained feeling in the air...one that Tim did nothing to dissipate. Instead, he resumed his search, checking the BOLO occasionally and trawling through the information on Grover's computer. It was highly inappropriate, but Tim felt a bubble of laughter inside him when he thought the name Grover. He might be an adult, but that fact did not prevent him from having the blue muppet well up in his mind every time he read the name.

"You have anything yet?" Gibbs asked.

"Still no hits on the BOLO," Tony said quickly.

"No indication of a relationship between them from Sgt. Grover's computer," Tim reported, suppressing a smile.

"Her friends claim that she would not do this...and they have no idea where she might go."

"You believe them?"

"Yes, Gibbs," Ziva said. "They seem to be telling the truth."

Gibbs' phone rang and they could all hear Abby's voice, although her words were unintelligible. She was definitely excited.

"Abby's got something."

"Never would have guessed, Boss," Tony quipped.

Gibbs didn't answer. He just strode toward the elevator, forcing the rest of them to follow close on his heels.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You guys, I found the smoking gun!" Abby announced as they came into the lab. "Well, okay, not really. For one thing we already _have_ a gun. For another, it's not like–"

"Abby!"

"I found a connection between our SEAL and Miss West Virginia!"

"She has a name, Abby," Tim muttered.

"So does the SEAL, McGee," Gibbs said, looking back at him for a moment.

"Do you want to know what I have or not?" Abby asked.

"Yeah." Gibbs looked at the screen.

"Turns out that they've got some alleles in common," Abby said.

"How many alleles?"

"Closer than kissing cousins."

"Ew," Tony said. "I hope you don't mean that literally."

Gibbs ignored him, although Tim rolled his eyes. "How much closer?"

"Not brother and sister. They have 25 percent of their alleles in common. I'd say half siblings, something like that."

"Adopted?"

"Not in the files."

"Then, the files are either wrong or they didn't know themselves."

"Okay...so what does that give us?"

"Possibly nothing," Tony said, his shoulders slumping. "If they were related and didn't know it, that tells us nothing."

"No such thing as coincidences, Tony," Tim said softly, staring at the monitor. "She was a beauty queen. Have you ever looked further than that?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I have."

"We found her whole history, McGee," Ziva said.

"Obviously not everything. Sean Grover and Louisa Grady are related. At some point, there is someone who crosses both their paths, whether it's their mother or their father. Someone." Tim looked at the screen. "Louisa Grady killed Sean Grover. Two people who we thought had never met crossed paths. She's not just a beauty queen, Tony. Whatever her reasons, she killed him and now we have to figure out why."

"We have to find her is what we have to do."

"Sure, but if we don't know the reasons, then what good is it? Do we just say sayonara, have a nice life in prison? I thought we investigated here."

"McGee, what's up with you?" Tony asked.

"Yes, McGee. You are acting strangely."

"Because I'm not just seeing her breasts or her alleles?" Tim asked sarcastically. "Sorry, if I think there's a whole person, not just parts. I'll go and keep looking through Grover's emails, Boss."

"You do that, McGee."

Tim walked away. As soon as he was out of the lab, he stopped and leaned against the wall for a moment. He had been two seconds away from punching Tony's lights out...and Tony wasn't even being much more annoying than usual...less actually. He took a deep breath and went back to the bullpen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim had found nothing to explain it when the BOLO finally paid off. They grabbed their gear and headed out...to Clarksburg, WV.

It took four hours to get there...but for whatever reason, Louisa Grady was still in the same place. The police had been watching her and she had shown no inclination to move...from the middle of the stage where she had won her crown fifteen years ago. She had a gun, but hadn't threatened anyone with it as yet.

The NCIS team went cautiously into the auditorium.

"Louisa Grady?" Gibbs called.

She had her sash on, ripped and faded after so long.

"Miss Grady, can you put the gun down?"

They came closer. Tim and Ziva were taking the wings, Tony and Gibbs the aisles.

Louisa didn't even seem to hear them.

"Louisa," Tim said, softly. "You look beautiful."

Ziva, from across the stage, gave him a startled glance. Louisa turned to Tim.

"I froze when I got to the Miss USA pageant. It was so much bigger there."

"I'm sure. I get nervous in front of big crowds, too."

She took a step toward Tim.

"I loved it, though."

"I'll bet you did. Why don't you put down the gun?"

Louisa stepped closer to him.

"I spent so long trying to make sure I looked just right."

"You're beautiful. You probably always look just right."

"McGee!" Tony hissed at him.

Neither of them paid any attention to Tony. Tim took a step toward her.

Louisa laughed and for a moment looked like the beauty queen she had been...as opposed to the faded, deranged woman standing on the stage now.

"Louisa, can I ask you a question?"

"If you tell me your name."

"My name is Tim. Did you know Sean Grover?"

Her face darkened. "That lowlife. He's like all of them."

"All of who?"

"All that devil's spawn."

"Who? Your father?"

Her hand tightened on the gun. "Saw me on the news. Said he wanted to...catch up. As if he hadn't thrown me out, as if he hadn't abandoned me for someone else's children."

"He saw you win the pageant?" Tim asked.

Her countenance changed almost immediately.

"I loved coming out on the stage for the first time. They all cheered me. Every one of them. It was like having a whole new family. They wanted me to win...and I did."

"I saw the newspaper articles. Very impressive."

Louisa took another step toward Tim. She was now perhaps ten feet from him. Tim's gun was no longer pointing at her. It was down and to the side.

"Louisa, will you put down the gun?"

"They all pretended to be happy but Sean kept coming around, kept pushing me. Showing off how much better his life was."

"I understand, Louisa. It must have been hard."

"That's what Sean said, you know. How hard it must have been. He didn't have a _clue_!"

"Why don't you tell me, Louisa?" Tim asked. "Put down the gun and we can talk."

"You won't get it. You won't understand! I'm _tired_ of people not understanding!" She was so close that Tim could have easily grabbed the gun. He didn't. He didn't move...not even when she lifted her gun towards his face.

...not even when Gibbs, Tony and Ziva shot her. He stood there, staring at her as she fell slowly to the stage. She looked at him.

"I tried to understand, Louisa," he whispered. "I really tried. You _are_ beautiful."

Louisa suddenly smiled and her eyes closed, the gun finally falling from her limp fingers.

Tim's gun slowly dropped until it was pointing straight down at the stage. He stared at Louisa's body, at the blood staining the pinewood flooring. That would never come out. Ever. Even when Gibbs stormed up onto the stage and started shouting at him, he stared only at her.

"McGee! Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?"

"She was beautiful, Boss," Tim said. "She gave way more service than was expected of her from her win. She was so beautiful."

"She's dead, Boss," Tony said, standing after checking her pulse. "Congratulations, Probie. This is just how I wanted to end my day: shooting a lunatic."

Tim suddenly snapped. He threw his gun to the ground and rushed at Tony.

"She wasn't a _lunatic_!" he shouted and drew back his fist. With no hesitation, he swung, catching Tony on the side of the face with a hard left hook, knocking him to the stage. "You hear me? She _wasn't_! You treated her like she was one of your centerfolds, like all she was was...was someone for you to ogle!"

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted and grabbed him from behind, holding him back. He'd never had to physically-restrain Tim before and it was a harder job than he expected.

Tim pulled against Gibbs arms, trying to get at Tony who was standing up, rubbing his face and looking a bit concerned. "You belittled her! No wonder she was driven to murder! People looked at her like you did! Like she was nothing! ...and now she is! Now, she's dead!"

"McGee!" Gibbs pulled back and had to gesture for Ziva to come and help because Tim was on the verge of getting away from him and from the look in his eyes, he was ready to attack Tony again.

"McGee! Stop!" Ziva said, grabbing Tim's arm, holding him securely.

"All you see is a body, Tony! That's all you _ever_ see! Alive or dead!" Tim spat.

Tony was actually speechless. A near miracle. His hands were out in a futile posture of defense.

"McGee! Stand down!" Gibbs shouted.

Finally, Tim stopped fighting against Gibbs' hands. He was breathing heavily and he looked at Tony with nothing less than malice in his eyes.

"They're more than that, Tony. They're more," he hissed.

"McGee. Outside!" Gibbs ordered. "Ziva, you go with him. Call Ducky. Tony, you stay here. Help me process."

Tim turned abruptly and walked off the stage, never looking back. Ziva followed him, but she did look back, her expression saying more than words could about her reaction to Tim's explosion.

"What was that, Boss?" Tony asked, shaken. He looked toward the door through which Tim had disappeared.

"I have no idea, Tony. We'll find out. Later. Right now, we have a crime scene to process."

He was right, but it was questionable whether either of the men were really as focused on the crime scene as they were on the events which had just transpired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"_How wrong _are_ things, Ziva?"_ Ducky asked.

Ziva didn't answer his question. "Gibbs wants you to get out here as soon as possible."

"_That bad? Very well. I shall hustle."_

Ziva hung up and looked over at Tim who was pacing in agitation.

"McGee?" she asked tentatively.

"What." It was not really a question.

"You realize that she was guilty, do you not? That she was about to kill you?"

Tim stopped. "Of course, I do, Ziva. I'm not stupid," he said derisively. "Sometimes, sometimes, people are what they are because of what has been done to them. Even if they're not, that's no reason for us to treat them like dirt! She does _not_ deserve to be thrown to the dogs...and I won't let Tony do that to her, even if she's dead."

"McGee..." Again, Ziva hesitated. "...McGee, did you _know_ Louisa Grady?"

"No," Tim said, looking surprised at the question. "Why would you think that?"

"You seem to be taking this very personally."

"Ziva, don't you get it?" Tim asked, his voice rising. "Louisa Grady isn't just our suspect. The people we arrest, the people we convict, they aren't just criminals. They're mothers, daughters, wives...husbands, sons, fathers. Friends... They all have something to be said about them. We never know _half_ the things that they are. All we see is this one event that brings them into our sphere...and we judge them by that, nothing else."

"How else _should_ we judge them, McGee?"

"Like _people_, Ziva!" Tim said, loudly.

"McGee!"

Tim turned around to confront Gibbs.

"What, Boss?" he asked.

Gibbs strove to keep his voice even, but his own anger (and a bit of worry) were apparent in his measured tone. "You are going to go back to DC with us when we are finished here. You will _not_ repeat your behavior of a few minutes ago..."

"If Tony can keep his big mouth shut for once," Tim said, angrily.

"Shut up!" Gibbs growled. "_When_ we get back, you and I are going to have a meeting with Director Vance. This is going in your file. ...and then, you are going to see a shrink."

"Me?" Tim asked, affronted. "_I'm_ going to see a shrink? _I'm_ going to be reprimanded? Me? When Tony can't stop slobbering all over every woman who passes in front of him? Can't stop himself from flirting even when it's a grieving widow? When–?"

"I said shut up, McGee!" Gibbs repeated. "As of right now, you are suspended from active duty. You will _sit _out here and wait for us to finish. Got that?"

"And when Tony's done undressing the body with his eyes will he have to sit out here, too?" Tim retorted, nastily. "Maybe you should make him sit on his hands seeing as he can't–"

"That is _enough_, McGee!" Gibbs roared. "You are out of line and in big enough trouble as it is. Rub a couple of brain cells together and keep _your_ mouth shut!" He turned from Tim and looked at Ziva. "Are you ready to help out in there?"

"Yes. Ducky is on his way."

"Good." He turned back to Tim. "Are we clear, McGee?"

"Crystal...crystal clear...Boss," Tim said, somehow conveying insult in the title.

Gibbs chose not to respond to the unspoken insult. Instead, he stalked back into the auditorium, Ziva in tow. Tim watched them go and then turned around and kicked the sedan as hard as he could, making a significant dent. It didn't even hurt his foot very much.

At first, he was fiercely glad to see that expression of his indignation, but then, after half an hour of angry mental acrobatics, he wondered exactly _why_ he was so angry, why he had damaged the car, why he had chosen that exact moment to punch Tony in the face when there were so many other times that he had deserved it more. The longer he stared at the dent, the more worried he got about what had been going through his mind. Louisa Grady was a murderer and she had been ready to kill him...but somehow, that didn't matter. She had killed an innocent man and Tim didn't care. He cared that _she_ was now dead, not that Sgt. Grover had been murdered by an obviously disturbed woman. Why not? Why didn't Sgt. Grover's death mean anything to him? Why didn't he care about that? Why did he, instead, care only about the perpetrator, not the victim? Tim sat down on the ground beside the car...beside the dent and tried to understand his actions.

Instead of being infuriated, he was now extremely confused...and a little bit guilty. Had his actions caused Louisa Grady's death? He'd definitely gone out of the bounds of his area of expertise. He wasn't a negotiator. He had let her get so close. He had focused her attention on him, asked her leading questions that had infuriated her.

_What was I thinking?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Did he say anything to you?" Gibbs asked Ziva as they walked into the auditorium, calming down enough that he didn't shout.

"Only that we should be treating the criminals like people. Nothing else, really. He is furious, though. I do not think I have ever seen him so angry."

"He still mad?" Tony asked from his position on the stage.

"Yes, Tony. He is."

"Okay, then, if it's all right with you, Boss, I'm going to stay in here for a while." There was a large bump on the side of Tony's face, a bump now turning purple.

"What a good idea, Tony," Gibbs said. "You can get some work done for once."

"Hey! I've been working!" Tony protested. "...and I killed a crazy lady a few minutes ago. Doesn't that count?"

Ziva stared at Tony for a long moment. "You know, Tony...while I will not punch you, McGee is right about one thing: You should not act so callously about people like this woman. She was obviously not in her right mind and was not responsible for her actions. You could show a bit more empathy."

Tony opened his mouth to argue but stopped at Gibbs' glare. Instead, they began to work in silence, processing a scene which was now the site of a death rather than the anticipated arrest.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're making good time, Mr. Palmer. Provided you make no wrong turns, we should get there in approximately half an hour," Ducky said.

"You have the map, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said, with a grin. "Give me the right directions and I won't get lost."

A soft smack with the map was followed by a chuckle. "You obviously need some toning down, Mr. Palmer, if you feel you can speak back to your superiors in such a fashion."

"I'm just learning from them," Jimmy replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Ha!" Ducky was about to make a witty retort (could it be anything else?) but was prevented by his phone ringing.

"Yes, Jethro?"

"_How far away are you?"_

"About 30 miles, give or take."

"_Good. When you get here, I'd like you to take a look at McGee."_

"Why?"

"_Just tell me what you think."_

"Why don't you just look at him yourself, Jethro?"

"_Ducky, just do it!"_

"Fine. Should I be looking for something in particular?"

"_No. Just...anything."_

Now, Ducky could hear his worry.

"What is wrong, Jethro?"

"_That's the problem. I don't know."_ Gibbs hung up, leaving Ducky staring speculatively at the phone.

"What's going on, Doctor?" Jimmy asked.

"I'm not entirely certain. Do you think you could...step on it, a bit?"

"Sure!" Jimmy pushed the gas pedal down and the truck's speed increased...dramatically.

Ducky involuntarily grabbed onto the door handle. "Do not get us killed, please, Mr. Palmer."

"Of course not, Dr. Mallard!" Jimmy said, quickly...but he grinned.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Their arrival at Clarksburg did not involve Jimmy getting lost...or in an accident. In fact, they made excellent time and pulled up to the auditorium quite easily. Ducky got out and directed Jimmy to gather their accouterments. Then, he walked toward the sedan...toward the legs he could see sticking out from its shade. He was surprised to find Tim, sitting beside the front passenger-side door of the sedan. The door was noticeably dented. Tim was...wrong, somehow.

"Timothy, what are you doing there?"

Tim looked up from his position on the ground.

"Sitting."

"I can see that. Did someone ding the sedan?"

"What?"

Ducky pointed to the large dent. Tim actually looked ashamed.

"No. Um...I did that."

"How?"

"I kicked it."

Ducky looked at the dent again. That would have required quite a lot of force. "Why?"

"I was mad."

"I see. Are you still?"

Tim shifted around a little on the ground, looking uncomfortable. "Well...yeah...no...not...not really. Not anymore."

"I see. Well, could you give us hand?"

Tim shook his head. "Gibbs told me to stay out here. I'm in...a bit of trouble, Ducky. He took me off active duty."

"He did? When did this happen?"

"Right after I punched Tony." Tim looked down at the ground.

Ducky covered his surprise. "Very well. We can manage."

Tim nodded at the ground.

Ducky jerked his head toward the building and Jimmy nodded, having stayed silent during the conversation.

"Ducky, welcome to Clarksburg!" Tony called. They were all sitting on the edge of the stage, obviously simply waiting for his arrival.

"Working hard, I see."

"We finished everything we can do until you get here."

"And so you just had to sit around?"

"Well, since McGee punched me, I figured it was safer to stay in here."

"I thought he'd have done it sooner, actually." Ducky smiled at the shock on Tony's face. "You do tend to overstep your bounds, my lad."

"Not like this, Ducky," Gibbs said. "This wasn't about that."

"No. It was something else," Ziva agreed. "Tony was not being more annoying than usual."

"Thanks, Ziva," Tony said sarcastically.

"Well, he is no longer angry; so I believe it is safe for you to go outside, Tony."

"How is he, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"I would describe him as confused. He did kick a dent in your car, by the way."

"What?"

"He kicked the sedan hard enough to dent it...rather substantially, in fact."

"You'll have to take it to a garage to get it fixed," Jimmy put in.

"Oooh," Tony said. "That's going to come out of his paycheck."

"I'll take it out of his hide," Gibbs said. "You two finish up in here with Ducky. Come out when you're finished." He jumped off the stage and began to leave.

"Jethro!" Ducky called and hurried to catch up with him. "What is really going on here?"

"I don't know, Ducky. I really don't. McGee flipped out. He possibly got Louisa Grady killed and then he punched Tony in the face. He's running off at the mouth and I'm wondering when he suddenly lost his good sense."

"It's not sudden, you know, Jethro. He's been rather uptight the past few months."

"Yeah, lost his money in the stock market."

"No, that is not it. That is not all. Yes, he _told_ Ziva that was it, but I question that he would be this upset by finances. It is not as though he does not still get a paycheck from NCIS. Regardless, he was ashamed by his behavior. I think you should take that into account when you confront him."

"I'm not back-pedaling on this, Ducky. Assaulting a coworker is out of line. His actions were reckless and could have got him killed. This job is dangerous enough without people going off half-cocked..."

"As you _never_ do, correct?" Ducky asked.

Gibbs just glared and walked out. Tim was still sitting on the ground, but he scrambled to his feet when he saw Gibbs approaching.

"Got anything to say, McGee?"

Tim actually scuffed his feet.

"I _don't_ know what I was thinking, Boss."

"When? When you started talking to Louisa Grady and nearly let her shoot you or when you punched DiNozzo?"

"Either..." He stared at the ground for a long time. "I...I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

"I don't know why I was so angry. I've always known that Tony is a misogynist jerk." Even in his attempt to explain and be rational, Tim's voice became sharper there. "But I..." He looked up. "I don't know. Boss, did I get her killed? I didn't want that. I was trying to _help_ her."

"We'll never know, McGee."

"I...I won't punch Tony again, Boss. Promise." Tim tried to smile, but the anxiety in his eyes made it much too false. Gibbs could see how worried Tim was.

"Why did you kick the car?"

"I was mad, Boss. I don't know when...it was probably when that guy killed Erin."

"This doesn't get you out of it, McGee. You're still seeing Vance and you're still going to a shrink."

Tim's head jerked up. "Boss, I deserve the reprimand. I know that. Punching Tony was stupid, but...but it's just...it's not a big deal. I just..."

"Could have been _killed_, McGee. You weren't aiming at her. You weren't doing anything. If we hadn't been there, she would have killed you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. She might not have pulled the trigger," Tim said. "She wasn't a bad person, Boss. She just needed help."

"McGee, can you _hear_ yourself? Being understanding is all well and good, but can't you see that there's a problem here?"

"I...I know that...Boss, I do. ...but it's not that big a deal."

"If you can't see the problem, McGee, _you _need more help than I thought."

Tim looked down again. "Boss, did I get her killed?"

Gibbs sighed. "I don't know, McGee. You ready to go?"

"Yeah. Who are we going to tell?"

"What?"

Tim lifted his head. "Who are we going to tell? Her mother's dead. She obviously wanted nothing to do with her father. Her friends were getting cut out of her life. Who's going to really care that she's dead, Boss?"

"Tim...we can worry about that later."

"Why? Why not now? She's a victim, now, Boss. She was before."

"Later. We won't be releasing the body until the investigation is over in any case."

The door behind them opened and Jimmy and Ducky rolled out the gurney carrying the body bag.

"I wasn't lying, you know," Tim said as Ziva and Tony joined them, albeit slowly. He stared at the black bag. "She was beautiful." He shook his head and walked to the car, opening the back door.

"You can sit in the front this time, Probie. I'll suffer with Ziva."

Tim looked back. "Sorry I punched you, Tony."

The mood shift was disconcerting to say the least. Tim seemed almost normal.

"That wasn't a punch," Tony said, nonchalantly. "It was a love tap. Your sister could have hit me harder."

Tim smiled. "Yeah, she could have. She takes self-defense classes now." He got in the car.

Tony looked at Gibbs over the roof. "Boss?"

"Don't ask right now, Tony," Gibbs said and got in the driver's side.

The ride back to DC was very quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part II: Therapy**

**Chapter 3**

Tim sat anxiously in the conference room, waiting for the shrink to arrive. This was a special quickly-convened session. He didn't think it was as vital as Gibbs seemed to...as Vance had seemed to. He'd only finished his requisite therapy sessions from the hostage situation a month...a few weeks ago anyway. He wasn't excited about the idea of having to do it again...especially not when he acknowledged that he'd been dumb about punching Tony, especially when he was already being reprimanded for it. ...especially when he couldn't figure out how to explain it anyway.

Shrinks were all the same. You couldn't just have a simple problem of acting stupid. There always had to be some _reason_ for it. Something dark and hidden and...

"Agent McGee?"

Tim jumped and met the entirely-too-kindly gaze of the shrink who was poking her head in the door.

"That's me," he said, trying to act unconcerned. He was certain that he'd failed miserably.

"Why don't you just stay there. I'll get set up and we'll get started."

"Okay." Tim sank back down to his chair and watched nervously as the psychologist began to pull a tape recorder out of her bag, along with various and sundry other materials. He stood up again.

"Have a seat."

"Look, Dr. ..."

"Andrews."

"Dr. Andrews, this whole thing has been blown way out of proportion. I apologized to Tony. I've received an official reprimand for being an idiot. This is just a formality, right?"

Dr. Andrews pointed to the chair. "Wrong. This is not a formality. You were not an idiot, Agent McGee."

"Punching out Tony might have been one of the most satisfying moments in my tenure at NCIS but it's not the most intelligent thing I've done."

"So, why did you do it?"

"He was...making all these comments during this case about Louisa Grady, our suspect. She was a former beauty queen and Tony thought that was hilarious. I was tired of it. Then...after she...after they had to shoot her, he called her a lunatic and I guess that was it. I'd had enough."

"Sit down, Agent McGee."

Tim sat back down, resigned to the fact that this was not going to be fast.

"You don't think she was disturbed?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Of course, she was. I'm not blind. She killed someone. She would never have done that had she been in her right mind. She wasn't that kind of person."

"How do you know that?"

"I read all of the things we gathered about her, talked to her friends during the interviews. She was a...a _good_ person. ...and Tony shouldn't have talked about her like that. It was mean and unnecessary."

"What about the victim?"

"Sgt. Grover?" Tim asked...and again felt his mouth stretch into a smile at the name. He quickly suppressed it. Not quickly enough.

"Something funny, Agent McGee?"

"I'm sorry. I know it's really inappropriate."

"Tell me."

"Well...whenever I say that name or read it...I just...I..." Tim let out a helpless chuckle. "I get this image of Grover from Sesame Street? I see him wearing a battle helmet or something."

Dr. Andrews jotted down a few notes. "And that's all right? Teasing about Louisa Grady is rude but you can make jokes about the victim and that's okay?"

"I never said it out loud! I told you it was inappropriate."

"But you're still thinking it. You even laughed. There must be a part of you that finds it entertaining."

"Look, it's...it's just a reaction! I know it's wrong. I didn't _ever_ say that. Tony never holds back. And Louisa didn't have anyone to speak for her."

"Oh, I see. Agent DiNozzo made fun of the suspect; so it's your job to make fun of the victim?"

"No!" Tim stood up again. "You're twisting this all around and making it sound like I don't feel sorry for...for the guy being dead."

"Do you?"

Tim made a sound of exasperation. "Of course! He didn't deserve to die. ...but neither did Louisa."

"Agent McGee, you were a hostage a few months ago, weren't you?"

Tim sat down abruptly. "Yes."

"At a prison?"

"Yes. This must be in my file."

"Well, this was a last-minute appointment. I haven't had the time to read everything. If you'd like to sit around while I read, I can, but it's just as easy to ask you. I can always verify later."

"You think I'd lie?"

"Would you?"

"No! I want to get this over with. I'm already suspended for a week for what I did. I don't want to make it worse."

"That's good. So...did you make any...friends with the guards or...or the prisoners?"

"I actually knew one of the guards. We were at FLETC together. She wanted to get together...after."

"Did you?"

"Why is this important?"

Dr. Andrews just smiled at his combative tone. "It might not be. Most people feel more comfortable answering inconsequential questions."

"We went out, realized that it was way too awkward after the prison...and the...and everything that happened there. We talk occasionally, but there's nothing going on. We can move off my love life now."

"All right."

"Besides, this has nothing to do with the prison and me being a hostage."

"Really? You've diagnosed yourself?"

"It doesn't have to be complicated," Tim said.

"That's true. It doesn't. So, why don't you tell me what your diagnosis is?"

"Why? You probably have something else in mind."

Dr. Andrews smiled again. "Maybe I do. Let's see. What do you think prompted you to punch out your coworker?"

"I told you. I got mad at him for being insensitive about Louisa and I let my anger override my common sense. That's it."

"I'm afraid not."

"What do you know that I don't? I was there. You weren't."

"Why did your anger override your common sense this time? Surely Agent DiNozzo has bothered you other times...probably more personally than this case."

"Sure. He gets on my nerves all the time."

"Then, why this time?"

"I was just...just a little tense." Tim stared at the table. "I don't like that Louisa had to die."

"She was about to shoot you, was she not?"

"She wouldn't have done it," Tim said softly. "She wasn't that kind of person."

"She was raising the gun to shoot you."

"She wouldn't have done it."

"You know that?"

"I just told you! She was a good person...just...just disturbed."

"Yes, she was disturbed, Agent McGee. Not in her right mind. The same not in her right mind that she was when she killed a man you seem to completely disregard. What if Louisa Grady had aimed her weapon at Agent DiNozzo rather than at you? Would you have shot her to stop her from killing your teammate?"

Tim hesitated. "Of...of course."

"Just not for yourself?"

Tim stood up again. "This isn't...you're making too big a deal out of this! Yeah, I screwed up! I know that! I might be responsible for Louisa dying. I punched out Tony and I shouldn't have. Everyone makes mistakes."

"What if Louisa had been the victim and Sgt. Grover had been the disturbed attacker?"

"What do you mean?"

"If their situations were reversed, would you care as much for Louisa Grady as for Sgt. Grover's situation?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't happen that way. There's a reason why Louisa did what she did. It wasn't right. It wasn't justified...but there was a reason in her mind. I wanted to understand...to get through to her. She wouldn't have been competent to stand trial. She probably wouldn't have gone to prison. Instead, she's dead."

"And you feel bad about that?"

"Yes."

"What about Sgt. Grover?"

"He has other people in his life."

"That means that you don't need to feel bad for his death?"

"I told you already. It's too bad he died."

"That Louisa Grady killed him."

"Yes...but how I feel has no impact on his situation. He's dead. His family will mourn him."

"Again, I'm asking you, Agent McGee, do you think that lets you off the hook for feeling anything for him?"

"The family won't know how I feel and they won't care."

"Answer the question, Agent McGee. Is it only Louisa Grady's lack of family that makes you feel sorry for her? Do you think that you have license to ignore or belittle the Grover family's loss?"

"I've never done any of those things."

"But you're still not answering my question."

"What's the point?"

"Answer the question, Agent McGee!"

Tim turned away from her. He actually took a couple of steps toward the door, as if he was going to walk out.

"If you leave, it won't make this any easier."

Tim stopped. "Everyone keeps staring at me like I've lost it." He laughed a little. "I don't think that Louisa Grady was innocent. I don't think she should have killed Sgt. Grover." He looked back at Dr. Andrews. "Is it wrong to feel a little bit of compassion for someone in Louisa's situation?"

"No."

"Then, it's not a big deal!"

"Agent McGee, you were almost killed by Louisa Grady."

"No."

"Yes!" Dr. Andrews corrected firmly. She stood as well, a file in her hand. "The report I have here says that you were speaking to her, standing much too close for safety, that she brought up her gun and was going to shoot you...and that _you_, Agent McGee, were doing nothing to stop her. You didn't grab the gun, use your own weapon or even try to get away. You just stood there, forcing your teammates to kill that woman to save your life."

Tim dropped his gaze to the floor. "I already said that I made a mistake. She shouldn't have had to die."

"A mistake that almost cost _you _your life, Agent McGee. Next time, it might be your teammates that pay the price."

Tim winced.

"Are you ready to face something like that?"

"It wouldn't happen!"

"What if Louisa had been aiming at someone in your family? At one of your friends? Who would take precedence, Agent McGee? The people you love...or a disturbed woman who had already killed once?"

"That's not a fair question."

"Life is not fair, Agent McGee. Situations like that arise, especially in the job that you have. You have claimed this isn't a 'big deal', but the very fact that you can't see the seriousness of the situation makes it _vital_ that you _not_ be in the field right now."

"What?"

"You're refusing to see the problem staring you in the face, Agent McGee. I can see it in your eyes. You _know_ what's wrong. You_ know_ what the problem is. You _know_ that this is dangerous. Until you can admit it...you're not an asset. You are a danger to yourself, to your team and to the people you are sworn to protect."

Tim dropped into a seat, his mind swirling through the words she'd just said to him.

"No...no, it's not. I wouldn't..."

Dr. Andrews also sat down.

"Agent McGee, I'm going to give my recommendations to Director Vance. I think you need a vacation."

"What?" Tim barely heard her.

"Looking through your file now, I can't find the last time you took a real vacation."

"So?"

"So, you're tense. Stressed out by a high-stress job. Take a vacation. Since you're suspended for a week anyway, you might as well take a vacation."

"And do what?"

"Go to the beach. Relax. ...but more than that, think about what has happened here...and where it comes from. We'll meet again when you get back."

"Yeah, _that's_ a relaxing thought," Tim mumbled.

Dr. Andrews laughed sympathetically.

"So...you're forcing me to take a vacation?" he asked glumly.

"I would rather you do it on your own, but yes, if I have to, I will make it a forced vacation. Agent McGee, you have a problem. No matter what you say, it _is_ a very big deal...and you have to work through it before there's even a _chance_ of you going back into the field."

"A chance?" Tim looked up. "A chance? Am I going to be fired? Put on desk duty? Turned back into a computer geek? ...just because I made one mistake?"

"It depends entirely on you. In your current state, you are not fit for active duty. That is my official determination as the psychiatrist engaged by your director to make an evaluation of your current status."

"You get to just...just _decide_ that?"

"Certainly, Director Vance can choose to override me should he wish to." Dr. Andrews leaned forward, sympathetically. "Agent McGee. Think. Think about it for just a moment. You don't have to do anything but give me a yes or a no. Based on what you've done, thought and said in the last few hours, even...do you _really_ think that you should be in a position where you might have to make a decision like the one you couldn't make today?"

Tim couldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the wood finish of the table, wondering, randomly, what kind of wood it was...if Gibbs knew. He saw, in his mind's eye, Louisa, her eyes wild, angry...irrational. He saw her bring up the gun, her eyes murderous...as they hadn't been when he first came in...as they hadn't been when she had died. He found his mind shifting away from that moment and focusing on other times, on the interviews, on the newspaper clippings...on the person that Louisa could have been. ...and he realized that he had just tried to push away that moment again. ...and that he couldn't even _imagine_ himself shooting her. He couldn't.

"No," he whispered.

"Then, take a vacation, Agent McGee. Think about this."

"Where will I go?" Tim asked, barely speaking aloud, feeling suddenly lost...adrift...as at sea as he had felt that first night after being taken hostage. _Why did I think of that?_

"I've been told that beaches are popular vacation spots."

Tim swallowed and nodded.

"We're done, Agent McGee. You can go. Arrange your vacation."

Tim nodded again and stood up. He couldn't look at her. He was afraid that his guilt would blaze out of his eyes.

After he walked out, Dr. Andrews sighed and looked at her notes. It wasn't an exact match...but then, psychological diagnoses rarely _were_ exact. He had so many of the symptoms, though, that she was surprised no one had picked up on it before.

"Ah, hindsight," she said to herself and grimaced.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After half an hour, she was ready to give her recommendation to Director Vance. She'd actually never worked with him before, but he had seemed inordinately worried about Tim's behavior. She could see why now, but at the time, she'd wondered. With a sigh, she stood and walked to Director Vance's office.

"Go right in."

"Thank you."

"Dr. Andrews, I want to thank you for rearranging your schedule to come here."

"It was fine, Director Vance. It's my job."

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you." He was worried. Well, if he were oblivious, he wouldn't be the head of a federal agency.

"I'd like to call in his supervisor, if you don't mind."

"Certainly." She waited quietly...for less than a minute before Gibbs came in.

"Agent Gibbs, this is Dr. Andrews."

"Well?" he asked, without preamble.

"What is your recommendation?" Vance asked more calmly.

"That Agent McGee be kept out of the field until further notice."

"Until further notice?"

"It's contingent on the results of our next meeting. I've told him to take a week vacation. He needs the time to work through this on his own before he'll accept it from anyone else."

"I was hoping to have him reinstated next week."

"That would be a bad idea."

"Why?

"Are you familiar with Stockholm Syndrome, Director Vance?"

Both Vance and Gibbs stared at her in surprise...and a bit of skepticism.

"Only with the high-profile cases...Patty Hearst, people like that."

"Come on," Gibbs said. "McGee isn't acting on the desires of his captors. It's been months since he was at the prison. This is..."

"Agent McGee isn't in _that _situation, but I believe, based on my meeting with him, that he is identifying with the criminals you arrest...all of them...and too intensely for him to do his job."

"He was only a hostage for a day."

"Sometimes, it doesn't take long. It depends on the level of threat he felt, how quickly he was able to see things from their perspective. I haven't had the time to review all the notes from his previous sessions, but it's entirely possible that he began to try and understand them, their feelings, their ideas."

"He did," Gibbs said, sitting down in a chair.

"Excuse me?" Vance asked.

"That first night, he talked to me. He was really bothered by how he felt. He said that the only people he cared about were the prisoners, that he didn't know what to think anymore."

"What did you say?" Dr. Andrews asked.

"I told him to bring it up with his shrink. He's seemed fine...until now."

"No indications?"

"Little things. He was more abrupt with Tony, more reckless...on edge during cases. This was the first time it seemed to adversely affect his work."

"Well, Agent Gibbs, it's certainly affecting his work now."

"I'm aware of that."

"That's why I don't think he should go into the field. I don't think _he_ knows what he'd do. That's dangerous...possibly deadly. Stockholm Syndrome isn't really about the popular cases like Patty Hearst where she allegedly became so attached to them that she committed crimes for them. The cases of Elizabeth Smart or Shawn Hornbeck are more along the lines of what I'm saying. The process of identifying with one's captors with the subconscious intention to prevent pain and fear by doing what they want, by trying to understand how things will work with them."

"We try to understand how the people we investigate work all the time. That's how we catch them," Gibbs said.

"This is different, Agent Gibbs. For Agent McGee, this is more than just trying to work out what makes them tick. It's an awareness that they're not all bad coupled with a general confusion about how he should perceive them, what he should do. He was the only person really interacting with the prisoners during his time as a hostage?"

"Ducky and I came in once, but other than that, we only talked to him by phone."

"So he was alone with them, working _with_ them in some cases to reach a common goal. He interacted with them to the degree that he sympathized with them. That's not necessarily bad, but since then, it's become a problem because now he's not sure what he should do when it comes to the people you investigate. He's confused because he both understands that they _need_ to be arrested and also doesn't _want_ to arrest them, doesn't want to _harm_ them. The problem is that, for Agent McGee, it started so subtly that it wasn't noticed. The notes of his previous therapist indicate the _potential_ for the development of more sensitivity to the plight of the arrestees, but he didn't think that there was much possibility of it becoming dangerous."

"Why would this be happening _now_? Why not weeks ago?"

"There's nothing that says reactions to a hostage situation have to occur in a specific time, Agent Gibbs. People can suffer from the effects of Stockholm Syndrome _years_ after the trauma occurred."

"So...what do we do?"

"First, Agent McGee _has_ to accept that it's happened. He has to admit that this is a problem. If he continues to deny it, nothing can be done. I can't _force_ him to get better. This is something that has to start with him. I can try to help him, but I'm not going to _make_ him see things my way. That would be no better than what happened before. Part of him even _wants_ someone else to make him do something. It means that he doesn't have to choose for himself. Once he accepts that there _is_ a problem, he can start to deal with it. Not until then."

"What if he doesn't?" Vance asked.

"He will," Gibbs said, standing. "He will." He walked out of the office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs came down the stairs to find Tim's desk vacant and Tony and Ziva working...but not really.

"Where's McGee?" he asked.

"He left, Boss. Did...did he get fired? He wouldn't say. ...because if he did, he didn't hit me that hard. He barely connected." How Tony managed to say that with a straight face was beyond Gibbs' ability to comprehend.

"That'll be a tough sell, DiNozzo, considering the whole right side of your face is swollen."

"I ran into the stage."

"With your face?" Ziva asked, incredulously.

"What can I say? I'm clumsy."

"He didn't get fired, Tony. He's off active duty."

"Why?"

"Pretending you don't realize there's a problem isn't going to help."

"He did hit you very hard," Ziva observed clinically. "I am surprised he did not break something...your face...or his own hand."

"Well, at least he didn't break my nose this time."

"_This _time?"

"The last time I got hit in the face, the guy broke my nose, remember?"

The conversation sputtered to an awkward halt.

"So...he is off active duty. For how long, Gibbs?"

"Until he works out some things."

"Like what?"

"Like things that are _his_ business and not yours, DiNozzo."

"Right, Boss."

"I'll need your reports from this mess." Gibbs paused and focused on Tony. "Be _honest_."

"Yes, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was unsurprised, when he pulled up to his house, to see Tim sitting on his front stoop. He looked, quite frankly, downtrodden. Gibbs got out of his car, walked over and sat down beside Tim, saying nothing for a while.

Tim broke the silence first.

"Do I have a problem, Boss?"

"Do you _think_ you have a problem, Tim?"

"Don't call me Tim. You only use my first name when I'm in trouble."

Gibbs had to smile at that. It was far too true.

"You're not in trouble, Tim. Not with me."

"I'm suspended. I'm off active duty. I'm being forced to take a vacation. That doesn't sound like I'm in anyone's good graces right now."

Gibbs nodded. "Have you decided where you're going to go?"

"Yeah. Oregon."

"Why?"

"There are beaches there."

"Not warm ones, not at this time of year."

"I know."

"Subtle form of protest?"

Tim smiled at his clasped hands. "No. My family went there when I was little. There are some nice places in the area."

"Where?"

"Place called Lincoln City."

"Why don't you just go visit your family?"

"Because I'd have to explain to them why I'm coming home for a week when there are no holidays. I don't want to tell them that people think I'm crazy."

"We don't think you're crazy, Tim."

Tim just sighed. "I'm taking Jethro with me. Found a hotel that will accept pets and...he won't enjoy the flight so much, but he'll probably like the beach."

"You want to come inside, Tim? It's not warm enough to sit out here for long."

"Maybe just for a little while."

"I don't mind, not even if you fall asleep like last time."

"I'm not really tired, Boss."

Gibbs stood and opened his front door. "You can come in anyway."

Tim stood and followed...into the house and down into the basement. He sat down on the steps as he had that first night after he'd been taken hostage and said nothing. Gibbs remained silent as well, working on his boat, smoothing down the planks. After an hour, he figured Tim had probably fallen asleep again. It was so quiet. He was surprised to hear a sigh.

"I couldn't have done it, Boss."

Gibbs put down the sander and turned to face Tim. He was still sitting in the same place.

"Done what?"

"I couldn't have shot her, not for anything, not even if I could prevent Sgt. Grover's murder by doing it, not even if I knew for sure that she was going to pull the trigger. I couldn't have killed her."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I looked in her eyes and I knew I couldn't do it. I tried to get her to put down the gun."

Gibbs said nothing.

"What's wrong with me, Boss?"

"What do you think is wrong?"

Tim didn't answer.

"You know, Tim, it's not weakness to admit you have a problem."

"Isn't it?"

Gibbs laughed. "We might act like it is, but it's not."

"I still keep track of them, you know."

"Who?"

"Celia Roberts...Judy Williams...Sharon Bellows. ...even Lopez."

"You..._talk_ to–?"

"No. I...I just check on their status in the prison. ...just to see if they're all right."

"Why?"

"No one else will. ...well, that's not quite true. Sharon Bellows only has a year left before she gets to be free to raise her kids again. Celia will never see the light of day. They gave her another life sentence. ...not that it really mattered. She already had one. Judy...all she wants is to die and beg for forgiveness, but she's still doing the best she can."

Gibbs turned back to his boat, mostly to hide his expression which he knew was showing more concern than he wanted it to. What Tim was saying wasn't necessarily bad...but in light of his current behavior, Gibbs was extremely worried because this swerve toward empathy with the people who had taken him hostage would be weird enough. The extension of that same empathy to _every_ criminal they arrested could possibly be paralyzing. ...possibly? It already _had_ been paralyzing. Tim had just admitted that there was no way he could have shot Louisa Grady. What about the next time?

"Is what I'm doing wrong?"

_Yes, McGee. You're on the verge of allowing criminals to go free. I'd say that's pretty wrong._ Gibbs said the words in his head, but out loud, he didn't. He really didn't know how to address this kind of problem, not when it was coming from someone who was so much smarter than this. Tim _knew_ that this was a problem. He _knew_ that his mind was currently a bit off. He _knew_ these things...but he wasn't admitting that he did. ...and to have this kind of...unconscious and yet willful ignorance played out in front of him was disconcerting.

"Dr. Andrews kept asking me all these questions about what I'd do. I couldn't answer her." Tim was almost not speaking to Gibbs at all, more like ruminating aloud.

The worst thing, Gibbs decided, was that Tim didn't _sound_ like he had a real problem. With the exception of what had happened today, he acted more or less like he usually did...a bit sharper, a bit angrier, but not much different. It was hard to realize that he _did_ have a real problem, a problem that could get him killed.

"I don't know why. I just feel...so confused, Boss."

_That makes two of us._ Gibbs turned back to his agent. "I guess that's what the vacation is for."

"Why aren't you angry at me anymore?"

"You accepted the consequences of what you did. You apologized. There's no reason to hold a grudge."

"I should go home and finish packing. My flight is tomorrow."

"Do you need a ride to the airport?"

"I was just going to call a taxi."

"I'll give you ride, Tim."

"You...I...I'd like that, Boss." He stood up, hesitated and smiled weakly. "You sure that I'm not in trouble?"

Gibbs smiled back. "You're not in trouble, Tim."

"Okay. My flight leaves at noon."

"I'll be there."

"Thanks, Boss. ...I can let myself out."

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"If you need to talk to someone...you can call me. Anytime."

"Thanks, Boss." Tim turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Gibbs alone with his thoughts.

Gibbs tossed down the sandpaper as soon as he heard the door close. Letting out a long sigh, he ran his hand over the top of his head. He just wasn't so sure a vacation would really help. ...but he hoped it wouldn't hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part III: Vacation**

**Chapter 5**

They pulled up to the unloading area and Tim sat looking at the airport entrance. He didn't seem excited to go.

"Am I going to be all right, Boss?"

"I'm sure you will." _Someday. If you don't kill yourself first._ Gibbs gave himself a mental headslap for that thought. Even if he wasn't saying it aloud, he shouldn't even be _thinking_ it.

Tim took a deep breath and nodded.

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know."

"I have to go. I'll miss my flight. Abby would kill me if Jethro wound up all by himself in Portland."

"Remember, Tim, you can call if you need to talk it out."

"I remember." Tim opened the door and got out. Gibbs watched him walk into the airport. He didn't look back. Gibbs sighed and drove away. He could only wait now.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Jethro had finally forgiven him the kennel. Tim managed to smile at his eagerness to leave the hotel room. He'd been forced to give him a bath the day before, after Jethro had discovered the joys of frolicking in a freezing cold ocean. Tim had done nothing more than wade, himself. He wasn't crazy.

..._am I?_

Tim took a deep breath.

"Okay, Jethro. Ready to go to the beach?"

A few barks and Jethro had the leash in his mouth, nearly begging Tim to get going already.

"All right. All right. Give me a second." He took one last look in the backpack he'd loaded with the necessities for the day. "Let's see. I have my wallet, my card, water, snacks, my jacket, your ball, your food, your dish. I think I'm ready. Let's go."

He leaned down, clipped the leash to Jethro's collar and let himself be dragged out to the beach which was so conveniently located relative to his hotel. Today, however, he really wanted to get away from all human contact. There weren't _too_ many tourists yet, but there were enough that he had decided that he was going to walk along the beach and find a place where he could just sit by himself...with Jethro doing his thing. Jethro wasn't an impediment to his plan as he would be happy anywhere along the beach. There was sun...for the moment. Off in the distance, clouds threatened to bring in a storm. That would make for some beautifully chaotic waves.

As soon as he got to the beach, Tim removed the leash and let Jethro run amok from the shoreline to the water to Tim and everywhere in between. Tim laughed at his antics and broke into a slow jog along the beach where the sand was wet and packed down. He was in good enough shape that he could maintain the slow pace for a long time. Gradually, the wide sandy beach began to show signs of roughness. The people who came for sand thinned and disappeared altogether as rocks began poking up amid the sandy stretches. In the ocean itself, large rocks jutted up toward heaven and the waves broke around them, the salty spray sparkling in the sunlight. Off to his right, the beach ended abruptly in low cliffs which, as he continued his steady jog, began to rise high above his head. Rocky crags, mostly an orangey sandstone, interrupted the sand with more frequency until, to Tim, it was almost like standing in the center of a stretch of mountains. He slowed to a walk, panting almost as loudly as Jethro who had easily kept up with him.

"How about it? Are you thirsty?" he asked.

Jethro didn't answer. ...thank goodness. Tim knew he'd definitely be crazy if his dog started talking to him. He walked for a few minutes, letting himself cool down. He looked back the way he'd come and saw no one around. He nodded to himself in quiet satisfaction and stopped.

He knelt on the ground and opened his bag. With Jethro slobbering beside him, he opened a bottle of water and poured about half of it into the dog dish. Jethro immediately began to lap it up while Tim took the other half for himself, settling himself on the sand to rest for a few minutes.

"This is beautiful, isn't it? I don't remember the beaches like this when I came before. Of course, I was only five or six at the time. I guess it's natural that I'd only remember the really exciting things...like the Alder glassblowing studio. I still remember that." Tim smiled in recollection. "Maybe I should have just gone to a stereotypical white sandy beach, sipped cocktails and laid out in the sun. ...but, Jethro, I don't think that would...would _fix_ me. ...whatever is wrong."

He shook his head and looked at Jethro who had finished his water and was now panting in his face.

"Thank you. You want to play? I'm okay with that. Playing is easy." He fished in the bag and pulled out Jethro's ball. "Go get it!" He threw it as hard as he could up the beach and watched as the German shepherd dashed off to get it, showing that he was not at all worn out by the trek.

"I might need you to carry me back, you know," he warned as Jethro deposited the ball at his feet. "We came quite a ways."

Jethro barked and bounced in anticipation of another toss. Tim smiled and threw the ball again. As Jethro came running back, Tim felt a streak of mischief that he hadn't in a long time. He grabbed the ball when Jethro put it down and began to run with it, dribbling it on the sand and rocky spaces every so often, forcing Jethro to run after him. It was exhausting, but it was fun. Finally, Jethro seemed to tire of his master holding the ball so exclusively. He gave a huge leap...right onto Tim's chest, knocking him down onto the sand, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Tim dropped the ball in surprise and then grimaced as Jethro licked his face, trotted calmly over to the ball and picked it up, giving off the air of intense satisfaction in outwitting this childish human being.

Tim rolled over, rubbing his chest.

"That's what I get for teasing you, I guess," he said and looked back to where he'd dropped his bag. "Even if no one is here, I should probably keep an eye on my stuff. ...unless I could depend on you to take the guy down?"

Jethro continued his trot, nose in the air. Royalty could hardly have been more snooty. Tim chuckled and got up. The thought came to him, as he walked over to his abandoned bag...

_What if someone _did_ come and try to take my bag? Could I stop them? _Would_ I?_

A cloud passed over the sun, casting shadows over the area. Tim looked up and noticed that the clouds were much closer than they had been. The wind was picking up as well. He debated going back...and decided against it. He didn't want to go back yet. Instead, he settled on the sand and stared out at the ocean, the waves now crashing more furiously against the rocks. A flock of cormorants took off from the top of one of the rocks, calling loudly. Tim watched them fly away.

"Would I, Jethro?" Tim asked softly.

He sat there, thinking...but not sure _what_ he was thinking...for a long time. Jethro finally gave in and trotted over to Tim, putting the ball at his feet. Tim didn't really notice. Jethro whined and nudged the ball closer. Still, Tim only stared out at the crashing waves which were slowly rising up the beach.

"I mean, I _should_. Why do I keep seeing their faces? ...and why do I keep seeing Agent Lee in my head?"

Jethro nudged the ball again and then sat patiently, accepting that Tim wasn't paying attention to him for the moment.

"I haven't thought of her in ages. What is she, Jethro? How am I supposed to think of her? Is she a traitor first or a hero first? She did what she did to save her sister. ...but what she did was commit murder and steal vital data. She was right, you know. I would have done...done _anything_ for Sarah. I was just lucky that I didn't have to...but I would have. Celia...saved Sharon Bellows. All those people...and she was the one who gave up more of her life just to save a woman who shouldn't have been there in the first place."

The waves traveled further up the sand. One particularly large wave broke over top of the rock directly in front of Tim. Jethro was startled and stood up, pacing back and forth for a moment, but then, he sat again, placing his head on Tim's shoulder, panting in his ear.

"I can't get them out of my head, Jethro. I can't. They're in there, stuck in my head. There's a part of me that wants Judy to be released. She's not at risk to re-offend. She wouldn't. She never hurt me. Lopez was the worst...and even she was going through some sort of withdrawal when she sprayed me in the face. She was...she threatened to cut off my finger." Involuntarily, Tim rubbed the fingers of his right hand together. There had been an awful moment when that knife was actually touching his skin...and it hadn't seemed like a threat. It was reality.

"But she didn't do it. She listened to me. She stopped."

The water was nearly at his toes.

"Dr. Andrews said that I knew what the problem was."

Jethro wuffled in Tim's ear, but still received no response.

The sun was hidden behind the thickening dark clouds and the wind took a sudden cool turn as the front moved in.

"So...what's the problem?"

The wind whipped around through the standing sandstone rocks...and finally, a particularly strong gust brought with it a large wave that traveled up the beach...and swamped Tim, bringing him out of his thoughts with a cold, wet jolt.

"Oh, great!" he said loudly, jumping up, forcing Jethro back as he grabbed his backpack and ran back out of the path of the water. "Crap."

Jethro whined again.

"What?" Tim asked and then noticed that the ball was rolling slowly and surely into the ocean...and that Jethro was refusing to get it. "What's wrong? You loved the water yesterday. Granted it was sunny...but still..." Tim sighed as he saw Jethro back further away from the water, growling at it. "All right, I'll get it."

Tim began to wade through the water, figuring that he was already wet. He might as well not worry about that.

Jethro gave a whine-bark. Tim stopped and looked back.

"What is _wrong_?"

Jethro took a few steps forward, whined again and then stopped. Tim didn't _always_ understand Jethro's attempts at communication but he could see Jethro was, for some reason, very anxious. He barked, high, sharp barks. Tim looked at the ball which was slipping away into the ocean.

"Come on, Jethro. Do you want your ball or not?" Tim asked, frustrated. He began to walk out into the water again...and was completely shocked when he felt Jethro jump up, grab the bag in his teeth and drag Tim backwards...down into the water. Then, before Tim could do anything else, the dog began to attempt to pull Tim backward, all the while whining with anxiety.

Tim was both angry and confused, but seeing as the large German shepherd was _not_ letting go of him, he figured he'd acquiesce...now that he was totally soaked. He scrambled back out of the water and was just about to round on Jethro and lecture him when his gaze was caught by the receding water.

He hadn't noticed before, his mind being otherwise occupied, but the area right around the sandy stretch at which he'd chosen to stop was all rock and there was an abrupt drop, now standing above the water line, near the large stand of sandstone. The rocky region was pocked with smaller holes, most as large as his foot. Had he run out after Jethro's ball, he would have risked falling into that large hole and panicking or getting his foot caught in one of the smaller ones and being stuck.

In shock, he sank to his knees, all thought of haranguing his dog for getting him wet forgotten. Absently, not able to tear his gaze away from what could so easily have been a disaster, he reached out for Jethro and hugged the wet, smelly dog to him.

"Good dog, very good dog, Jethro. ...thank you."

Jethro's ears, which had been drooping at Tim's obvious ire, now raised. He panted hopefully.

"Very good dog." Tim said again. "You...you ready to go back?"

Jethro pulled back and barked, his good will completely restored.

"Okay. Let's go." Tim stood and began the long walk back to his hotel...but with quite a few glances back over his shoulder. He'd been so preoccupied by his thoughts of the women at the prison, by his own obsession with them that he had almost gotten himself killed. If Jethro hadn't been there...

_...if the others hadn't been there..._

The possibility of his own death was now, suddenly, very real to him...and he could not rid himself of the thought all the way back to the hotel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The next morning found Tim sitting on a chair in his room, staring out at the heaving sea. The storm had come during the night and the weather was still wild and gray. He hadn't been able to sleep much that night, too many thoughts running through his mind... an endless comparison between Jethro and his team...and the cause of both near-disasters.

When he'd first reached the hotel, it had been easy enough to stop thinking about it. Jethro was soaking; he was soaking. They both needed baths...and to get dry. However, once that had been done, the possibility of serious bodily injury hit him again. Of course, there was no guarantee that he _would_ have been seriously injured had he dashed out after Jethro's ball...a cheap ragged tennis ball, so easily replaced. The drop off wasn't permanent. It was a large pockmark in the rock, and judging by the way the water had been moving, it probably had been etched to make a tunnel to the open ocean. The smaller holes over the rest of the stretch weren't everywhere. He could have easily missed them. ...but... Even though the guarantee wasn't there, it was all Tim could think about. Just the _possibility_ that he could have been hurt, even killed if he had been stuck out there long enough was a thought that made his blood run cold.

The conflation of the two events was such that his mind traced the path from getting stuck during high tide on the beach to that strange slow motion of Louisa Grady pulling the gun up toward his face, her eyes shifting from manic to murderous in a split second...and him unable to do _anything_ about it. Unable. Totally and completely. ...and he hadn't _wanted_ to do anything about it either. It was...a moment of utter disbelief.

_Louisa wouldn't have..._ Tim had to stop the thought because he knew it was a lie. He knew it deep down inside him. Louisa _would_ have. The only thing that had stopped her were the three bullets fired by people who had protected him at the expense of her life.

"It's like I killed her, Jethro. ...even though I couldn't." He slid off the chair to the floor, sitting beside his sleeping pet. "You saved me. They saved me. ...from myself. ...and it's like I killed her." Tim's heart clenched painfully. "Why do I care so much, Jethro? Why was I so determined to go after your stupid ball when I could just as easily use one of the others that I have here? Why couldn't I stop Louisa? Why couldn't I save her? Why did I _want_ to save her? Did I? If I really did, wouldn't I have _done_ something? Something _right_?"

Tim's petting of Jethro finally woke him up. He yawned and stretched before licking Tim's face.

"How about it, Jethro?" Tim asked, wiping away the tears that had fallen unnoticed before. "You want to brave the outdoors again?"

Jethro sat on his haunches, staring at Tim, as if assessing his master's status. He cocked his head to the side and whined a little.

"I don't know, Jethro. It would be nice if you could just tell me what was wrong and how I could fix myself. I don't know what to do, what to say."

Jethro licked Tim's face again. Tim smiled and wiped at his face.

"I try to tell myself that you do that because you love me...but sometimes, I'd swear you're just tasting me to see if I'm ready for consumption yet." There was an unsettled feeling in his chest which hadn't dissipated at all, but Tim tried to dismiss it. "You want to go out? I promise to be more careful this time."

Jethro stared at him for a bit longer and then barked and trotted off to get his leash. He was not so excited as he had been the day before. It seemed almost as if he were doing it for Tim rather than the other way around. It made Tim wonder if his dog had that much insight into his psyche. Still, once they got to the beach, Jethro was as excited as he'd been before to play in the surf. He did his business first, but then he ran and played in the welling waves. Tim walked along, the misting rain which still fell barely registering on his senses. His mind wasn't on the weather. It wasn't even on his dog. It had been drawn, once again, onto the whole reason he was there.

_Why is this so difficult? I know everyone's worried about me. I know they think there's a problem. ...why can't I see it? Why can't someone just tell me what they think is wrong and tell me what to do to get over it?_

Jethro was suddenly winding himself around Tim's legs, nearly tripping him up. Tim looked down and sighed.

"Jethro, you're making me realize just why I have no desire to actually live on the seashore. I'd have to give you a bath every single day."

Jethro demonstrated his disdain for that pronouncement by shaking himself vigorously, showering Tim with saltwater.

"You know, I don't know why people like beaches so much. Ocean water is smelly. It's dangerous. ...and when the beach is warm, it's crowded. What's so great about it?"

Jethro went down on his front legs, sticking his rear end up in the air and wagging his tail. Tim crouched beside him and sighed. Jethro nudged him gently and Tim tipped backward onto the wet sand.

"Now, what was _that_ for?"

Jethro wuffled and settled himself in the sand beside Tim, putting his head in Tim's lap. Tim stared at him for a few seconds and then gave in to the obvious demand, relaxing on the sand and petting Jethro gently as the two of them watched the wild waves. It was a mild storm compared to some of the winter storms that hit the Oregon coast from time to time, but the waves were impressive enough to keep them both occupied. Nor were they the only ones on the beach. A few diehards took walks along the shore. Some others appeared to be appreciating the display of nature. Tim and Jethro were left in their solitary contemplation, however.

The ocean seemed so wild, so...so free. It didn't have this confusion, this difficulty. The ocean rolled in. It rolled out. Nothing more. Nothing held it back. The ocean went where it wanted to go.

Tim watched it with more than a bit of envy. He knew that was silly, being envious of something inanimate, but it was true. He had felt as though he'd been adrift ever since that day in the prison, as if he didn't know what to do with himself. It was nothing extreme, nothing dramatic. It was just a general feeling of dislocation...as if he himself was under the power of the sea, being tossed to and fro.

Gradually, the rain stopped and the clouds thinned. The wind continued and the waves were as wild as they had been before. Even if it had been warmer, the ocean would have been unsafe for swimmers.

"Louisa would have killed me," he whispered. "If no one had stopped her, she would have. Why doesn't that matter? It should, Jethro. I don't want to die."

The dog's ears pricked at his name, but he was content to lay on Tim's legs.

"There's something wrong with me."

Jethro stirred slightly.

"There's something wrong with me, Jethro," he repeated and then laughed. "I need to talk to someone who can talk back. Would you get off my legs, please?"

Jethro stood obediently and then trotted beside Tim as he headed back to the hotel, brushing the sand off his pants as he went.

"I'll bet you're hungry anyway. We didn't eat breakfast before heading to the beach. That wasn't smart, was it."

Jethro sneezed. Whether he meant anything beyond that he had sand in his nose, Tim didn't know.

"Okay. You need to eat. I need to eat. We can do that. I shouldn't call anyone until the evening anyway. They'll all...be working." His stride faltered for a moment before he continued in a determined gait. "It's okay. It will be okay. It will." He nodded too many times for that to be quite believable.

Once inside, he focused on feeding himself and Jethro...and on getting rid of the ocean stink. Then, he decided that it would be better to go and see some of the sites rather than sit around in his room waiting for the time when he could call someone back in DC and talk.

He didn't know what he'd say, but he figured it would be better to stumble over his words than run the risk of killing himself...out of his own wrong-headedness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tim stared at his phone. It was five o'clock. Gibbs would be home since it was three hours later. ...unless they had a case they were working on. Then, he might still be at work. He might be busy. He might...

"He might not want to hear this," he said aloud. "What am I going to say? I don't _have_ to call him, Jethro. I don't really _need_ to. I'll be back in DC in a few days anyway. I'll..."

Jethro sat staring at Tim, utterly unimpressed. Tim didn't much blame him for that. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't want to do this."

Jethro barked once, put his front paws on Tim's knees and licked his nose.

"Blech!" Tim rubbed at his face, but couldn't help smiling. "Why do you keep _doing_ that?"

Jethro nudged Tim and then trotted out to the balcony.

"You're right...if that's what you meant," Tim said after him. "I should just do it...get it over with."

Easier said than done, however. He gulped and looked at his phone again.

"Gibbs _said_ I could call him if I needed to talk. I don't _really_ need to. I could wait."

Jethro barked from the balcony and Tim laughed at him.

"Jethro, either you are the smartest dog in the world or you have great timing."

Tim looked at the phone again and nodded. "I do need to." Tentatively, he began to dial.

"_Gibbs."_

"Hey...Boss."

"_McGee."_

"Are you busy?"

"_Not particularly."_

Tim swallowed. "I...I th-think I have a problem."

There was a sound of a chair scraping on the ground.

"_What's the problem?"_

"Well...I...I almost got myself killed yesterday. That's...kind of a problem."

"_What."_ Gibbs' voice went flat. He wasn't really asking a question. It was more like demanding an answer.

"I...I was out on the beach with Jethro and...well, I...I _almost_ did something really stupid. If Jethro hadn't been there to pull me back I could have drowned. ...and...and I have a problem."

"_What is it?"_

"Don't you know? Everyone seems to know already."

"_Do you?"_

"I...I don't...know...not exactly. I...it's..." Tim mentally cursed his stammering.

"_Take your time."_ The words were strangely gentle.

"She was going to kill me...but I didn't...I didn't think that...I didn't want..."

"_Who?"_

"Louisa. Grady. She... I could see it in her eyes, but all I wanted was to...help her, to make things better for her."

"_And?"_

"And...And I guess that's...kind of a problem. Maybe. She...if you hadn't been there, like Jethro. I would be dead. I...It's my fault she's dead." Tim felt the tears come to his eyes. "I hate that...but I don't know..." The tears began to fall. "I don't know why. I don't know why I care so much about her, and I don't know why every time I think of her, I think of...of..."

"_Of what?"_

"Celia. Judy. Sharon." The tears fell faster. "I hate that I can't do anything to help them, that they're in there, that...that they have to be. ...and I don't know _why_!"

"_Well, think about it, Tim. Why do you think that would concern you so much?"_

"Because they're not all bad. None of them. ...but we still have to punish them for what they've done wrong...but we don't...don't think about what they've done right."

"_We can think about it, but that doesn't stop us from doing our jobs."_

"What _is_ our job, then? To make people miserable for the rest of their lives?"

"_Is that what you think we do, Tim? That might be what _they_ think we do, but really, whose fault is it that they're in prison?"_

"What about Michelle? What about Sharon? What about Louisa? Michelle... Agent Lee, was trying to save her sister; she was doing what she thought was the only way to keep her alive. Sharon was defending herself from her boyfriend. Louisa...was...had problems. It wasn't her fault."

"_Agent Lee did what she thought was best, but that involved murder, Tim! She killed not one, but _two_ innocent people! Sharon Bellows claims to have fought off an abusive boyfriend, but she still killed him. Louisa Grady killed a man and nearly killed you."_

"If Sharon had just let the boyfriend kill her would that have been better? What about her kids? Boss, we took her away from her _kids_!"

"We_ didn't do anything to Sharon Bellows. Tim...listen to what you're saying. That's your problem."_

"What?"

"_Think about it."_

"It's wrong to care about them?"

"_What's wrong, Tim, is that the things you're saying are the things _they_ would say about us, about _any_ cop. Guilty or innocent, they'll say it. Do _you_ think that what we do is wrong?"_

Tim got up and started pacing back and forth, agitated by what Gibbs was saying, by his own chaotic thoughts. Part of him knew that what Gibbs said was right, that they had a job to do, that what they did was a good thing...but there was another, louder, more insistent part that said that all NCIS did was take people away from the ones they loved, take them, run roughshod over them and then leave them to rot in a prison. It was a part that had been growing steadily louder over the last few weeks.

"_Tim?"_

"I don't know anymore, Boss! You're right...but you're not. I...I don't...I don't know what to say, what to do, how to...I just...I don't know. What do I do?"

"_I can't tell you that."_

"Why not? Why can't you tell me what to do, Boss? It would be better, safer..."

"_Easier?"_

"Yes."

"_It wouldn't be better, Tim. It wouldn't be safer. You know why."_

"No."

"_Yes. Tell me why it wouldn't be safer or better if I just told you what to do."_

Tim began pacing faster. His mind was so full of conflicting information that he couldn't seem to settle on one idea.

"Please, Boss," Tim begged tearfully.

"_No, Tim,"_ Gibbs said, sounding more kind than he ever had before. _"Tell me why."_

"I can't. I can't...and...please."

"_Yes, you can."_ There was a long pause and then Gibbs sighed as if he'd suddenly made a decision. _"Four years ago...Tim, you ran your first case."_

"Don't go there, Boss." Erin was still a sensitive subject to him...even after all this time.

"_I have to. You were investigating the death of a sailor. You met Erin Kendall. She was killed. Murdered while you were on the phone, listening to her fight with her killer."_

"Why are you doing this?"

"_Should we have let her killer go, Tim? After all, he had a reason for what he did. He was trying to pay for school. He had to kill Erin to stop her from realizing who he was. She was the only witness and she was so insistent. And you believed her. Scrutiny. Too much scrutiny. Can you justify his actions? Can you say that he wasn't all bad and we only looked at the bad things? Should we have said that he had done so many other good things with his life and that those things outweighed the two murders he had committed? Was his strangling Erin to death while you listened justified?"_

It was like a physical pain, listening to Gibbs bring up that period of his life. A knife jamming into his brain, into his chest, as he relived that horrible, horrible moment.

"_You figured it out, Tim. You realized who murdered your friend._ You_ realized it. _You_ chased him down. What about it, Tim? Is that justified? Or should you have let him go? Tell me, Tim. Did you make a mistake in arresting him? Did you?"_

With a low moan, Tim sank to his knees, his eyes closing tightly as he rocked back and forth. He barely noticed when Jethro came back into the room and rubbed against him, whining softly.

"_I guess you think that arresting him was wrong, that we should go to the prison right now and let him out. Or...what about that cheerleader and her security guard friend who set up your sister to be raped and then killed her ex-boyfriend? I'm sure they have things _they_ could say that would justify what they did, that they have enough good deeds in their lives to cancel out a little thing like attempted rape and murder."_

"Stop. Stop it, Boss. Please, stop."

"_If you excuse one, you have to excuse them all, Tim. What's it going to be? You have to make a decision. Are you going to let Erin's killer go? Are you going to let Sarah's would-be rapist go? Are you going to–?"_

"No!" Tim shouted. "No! No, I can't!"

"_Can't what?"_ Gibbs sounded completely unaffected.

"I...I...I just wanted to get his ball, Boss."

"_What?"_

Grasping onto that recent event as if it were a lifeline, Tim babbled. "It was washing away. The tide was pulling it out to sea. I had to get it back, but Jethro wouldn't go. He didn't want me to go either. It was just a stupid ball, but I couldn't just let it go. I was going to walk, but I didn't make it because Jethro pulled me back." He was talking at a speed that would have put Abby to shame. "Jethro pulled me away. I was so mad at him for getting me wet, for pulling me down. I was going to shout at him but...but then I saw the, the rocks as the tide went back. The rocks were so, so pitted with holes and there was this big old dip in the middle that probably went over my head and the holes were the size of my feet and I could have been stuck in them and I could have drowned and the tide was coming in and it was raining and there was a storm...and it was just a stupid ball, Boss. Just a ball, but I almost got myself killed for it. I almost did. I almost died. I just wanted to get the ball back." He was trembling, his breath shaky. "It was just a ball. Just a–"

"_Tim, stop. It's...it's all right."_

"What's wrong with me, Boss?" Tim whimpered. "I don't know why this is so hard."

"_Because you faced down something hard. Recovering from that is going to be hard, too."_

"I've been trying so hard to figure it out, but everything's so jumbled in my head."

"_Can you answer my question?"_ No longer confrontational, rather gently supportive.

"No, Boss," Tim said. He was almost on all fours, but he pushed himself back onto his knees. "No, they shouldn't go free."

"_Who?"_

"The guy who killed Erin. Those...those..._people_ who set up Sarah."

"_What about Louisa Grady?"_

"She...wouldn't..."

"_Be honest, Tim."_

"If you hadn't...been forced to...to k-kill her, she would have been found mentally incompetent to stand trial. She would have gone to some sort of rehab place."

"_Celia Roberts?"_

"What if–?"

"_No. No what ifs, Tim. She was found guilty. She confessed."_

"But she lied about killing Trimble!"

"_Does that automatically mean she lied about the rest?"_

"No, but–"

"_Tim, you have to see the way it is. No middle of the road here. You can't do your job if you can't look at them and arrest them for what they've done wrong."_

"Why can't I see it that way?"

"_Because you dealt with them in the prison...and no one realized how you were dealing with it outside the walls."_

"This can't just be about that."

"_Why not?"_

"Because...because that...that would mean..."

"_What?"_

"I don't...know." Tim sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I don't _feel_ like...like it's...when I'm doing every day things, it's fine. It's just when..."

"_When you come face to face with the evidence of what you went through?"_

"I guess."

"_Maybe I shouldn't have forced this on you right now, Tim."_

"I don't know."

"_Do you need more help than a phone call can provide?"_

"I...I'm not sure."

"_Make a decision, Tim."_

"I'll...be fine...Boss. I think I just..." Deep breath. "...I'll just take care of Jethro."

"_Okay. You call me if you need to talk again. Hear me?"_

"Yeah."

"_McGee, I mean it."_

"I know. I know, Boss. ...and Boss?"

"_Yeah?"_

Tim swallowed and sat back on his heels. "It's a big deal, isn't it."

"_Yeah."_

"Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

**Part III: Return**

**Chapter 8**

Tim spent the last few days of his vacation on the beach again. The sun had come out and the temperature had gone up correspondingly. He tried not to think of anything beyond what he was doing in the moment, beyond his immediate concerns of making sure Jethro was entertained and keeping himself as content as possible. It was difficult if not impossible. All the things Gibbs had said to him, all the things he himself had said...it was too hard to remember them, too hard to think of them. This had not felt like a vacation. It was a long period of limbo, interspersed with bouts of anguish and confusion. He was actually relieved when the last day arrived and he could pack up and leave.

"Come on, Jethro, into the kennel," Tim said coaxingly. Jethro growled at him...and then, whimpered pitifully. "That's not going to work with me. You know why? There's no other way to get you back to DC. If you want me to leave you here, just say the word. Otherwise..." he pointed firmly at the kennel.

Jethro whined.

"Look, I know you don't like it, but it's only for a few hours. I won't be much more comfortable sitting in economy. Those seats are not made for anyone taller than five feet."

Jethro still looked at the kennel with distaste and snorted at it. Tim didn't really blame him for that. It was a large one, but it still kept a normally-active, large dog essentially immobile for hours at a time.

"Please, Jethro," Tim begged, kneeling in front of the German shepherd as if it was another person. He was vaguely embarrassed to find that he was nearly crying. "Please, I need to go home. I don't want to stay here anymore. I need to get back."

For a long moment, Jethro sat on his haunches, looking as though he would never move. Then, he moved onto all fours and trotted over to Tim. He nuzzled Tim's face and then got into the kennel.

"Thank you, Jethro," Tim said, wiping away a single tear as he stood. Quickly, he checked out of the hotel, got into his rental car and drove to Portland to catch his plane. Once he made sure Jethro was checked in, he walked to the gate...and waited. He was more than two hours early. ...and his mind was inexorably drawn back to his chaotic, confused thoughts.

When was the last time that he had _not_ worried about the people he had investigated? When?

_That security guard, the one who tasered me._

_The people...the...the criminals who had come after that. The woman who stabbed Ducky, that guy from the hiatus days, even that crime boss guy. ...but there were so many extenuating circumstances...right?_

Tim stood up and walked to the window. He stared at the gate where his plane would be shortly. He stared and suddenly thought of Jethro, so reluctant to get into his kennel...his prison.

_Why am I punishing Jethro because I'm the one with the problem? He doesn't want to be in the kennel. He hates to be stuck in there. He hates it! I'd hate it. What if I had to be stuck in a small confined space like that for hours on end? What if someone made _me_ do that? What if..._

Tim became aware that he was crying. He didn't know why...but he felt himself start to tremble. He sat down...with effort, and pulled out his phone. He was freaking out, and he didn't know why. He needed to talk. Now. Not later. Not in a few hours. He was on the verge of screaming and he had to stop that from happening. He wouldn't be allowed on the plane if he started acting crazy.

"_Gibbs' phone."_

"Where's Gibbs?" Tim asked. "Why do you have Gibbs' phone, Tony?"

"_McGee?"_

"Where's Gibbs?"

"_What's wrong, McGee?"_

"I...I just...need to talk to him, okay?"

"_He's in a meeting with Vance. What's up?"_

"Nothing. Nothing."

"_Hey, McGee, I'm not mad at you for hitting me in the face. You can talk to me, you know."_

"No," Tim said, almost sobbing. "No, I can't."

"_Why not? What's wrong? McGee, you're freaking me out."_

"That makes two of us."

"_Something happen?"_

"No. Nothing."

"_You need to talk to Gibbs?"_

"Not if he's in a meeting. I'll...I'll be okay." _Please, let me be okay._

"_McGee, you don't sound okay. I'll get Gibbs."_

"No! I..."

"_McGee, you need to talk to Gibbs, he won't mind being interrupted."_

"Not from a meeting, not if it's important."

"_I'm walking up the stairs even as we speak. You have about thirty seconds to change my mind."_

Tim started to cry into the phone, knowing that this would not change Tony's mind but unable to hold it back anymore. Tony would probably be okay to talk to, but Tim couldn't face the idea of having to explain things that Gibbs already knew. He withdrew into a discrete corner of the waiting area, trying to hide his breakdown. Tony, for his part, didn't say anything acknowledging Tim's tears. Instead, Tim heard muffled conversations.

"_Yeah, I know, but it's important, okay? This is a phone call Gibbs needs to take."_

A distant voice asked how urgent it was.

"_I already told you it's important. Look, if you just let me tell Gibbs, he can decide and he can take it out on me if it's a problem."_

The same voice seemed to be resigned.

"_Thank you. ...Boss, phone for you."_

Gibbs' voice...unintelligible, followed by Vance's questioning if this interruption was necessary.

"_It's important, Boss. Really."_

Tony must have been really close to Gibbs because Tim could now hear both sides of the conversation.

"_Who is it, Tony?"_

"_It's McGee, Boss,"_ Tony said, both of them were speaking in low voices, but very close to the receiver. _"He sounds really freaked out."_

"_Give it to me. I do need to take this, Director."_

Vance's voice was accepting.

"_What is it, McGee? What's going on? Shouldn't you be on your way back?"_

"I'm sorry, Boss. I'm really sorry. It's during the day and I shouldn't have called, but I'm just...I don't know why, but I'm..."

"_Slow down, Tim. What's wrong?"_

"I'm freaking out...because Jethro's in a cage, stuck there for so long...and I can't do anything about it. He hates it. He hates being in there. I know he does, but I forced him in anyway. I feel like I'm going to start screaming, Boss. I don't know why."

"_Yes, you do."_

"No, I don't!"

"_Yes, Tim, you do. You know what the problem is."_

"Then, what do I know?"

"_I'm not going to tell you. You tell me. What were you thinking about?"_

"Them."

"_Who?"_

"The people we arrest. They get stuck in prison...even if there were reasons for what they did, even if they weren't all bad. Look at Ducky! He did what he did because he–"

"_Whoa, Tim. Do not go there. Don't even _think_ about comparing Ducky to the people we arrest."_

"Why not? He...He still could...it's... What about Jethro?" Tim said as he slid down the window to the floor of the terminal.

"_What about him? You traveled out there with Jethro in the same situation."_

"He hated it. I didn't give him a choice. He had no choice. He just had to do it. He only went in this time because I begged him to. I just want to go back, to get away from...from...all this time I have to think. I need to be busy. I need to–"

"_What you need to do, Tim, is stop avoiding the problem. Stop trying to make other people do your thinking for you. Just face it! Now! ...before they keep you from getting on the plane because you're acting like a nut."_

"I feel crazy."

"_Why?"_

"Because I'm worrying about a dog."

"_Why are you worrying about a dog?"_

"I...don't know."

"_Yes, you do."_

"Because...he..." Tim looked out the window...and met the gaze of a worker who was staring at him from a stairwell. The light must have been just right so that he could see through the tinted windows. Tim turned resolutely away from the concerned expression. "...he's in a prison. I don't want him to be in a prison, Boss. It's so...it's so hard. You can't get out. You know you can't. You know just how long you have. Sometimes...sometimes, the end of it is more than likely going to be your death. It's a life sentence."

"_Tim..."_

"It's just so hard. I was only there for a day...and it felt like years. It felt like my life might end at any moment because of...of them or because of the people on the outside who were making decisions that I could do nothing about. I just had to sit there and hope. They don't even _have_ hope, Boss. They're just _in_ there...and they have to take it. They have to face death...from other inmates or from the people who put them there. From people like me...the people who take away their choices. We take them away from the world...we put them in a little cage...and we let them wait to die." Tim took a shuddering breath. "At the end...at the end, I knew it was over. I knew they were coming in. I knew the procedures. I knew what to expect. You told me what would happen. I knew if they came in firing, I'd be dead...and so would they...Judy, Sharon, Celia. I just wanted it to be over. I just wanted to get out. I was ready to turn Sharon over, even though she was the least at fault."

"_She was guilty, Tim."_

"She killed him, but she wasn't guilty. ...but she still had to stay in prison. After all that..."

"_Tim, it's not like that."_

"Yes, it is! I _know_ it is! I know because I've...I've felt the same way. ...and I didn't want Louisa to feel that."

"_Were you trying to get her killed? To keep her from going to prison?"_

"No! No, Boss. I wasn't. I swear! She wouldn't have gone to prison. She needed help. I just wanted to help her...and I couldn't do it. I couldn't help her. I couldn't arrest her. I couldn't save her from...from that."

"_Tim...can you see it now? The problem?"_

"I...I don't want them to go to prison, even though they're guilty. I don't want people to feel that way. So...helpless...hopeless."

"_Guess what, Tim. Jethro won't feel that way. Oh, he might resent the kennel for a while, but he doesn't feel trapped. He knows you'll be coming to get him...because you're a good person. There's another thing you've forgotten."_

"What?"

"_The choices _they_ make. Before you...before we make an arrest, we do the best we can to gather the information to lead us to the right person."_

"But what–?"

"_Let me finish. These people, from the guy who killed Erin Kendall to Det. Archer to Agent Lee to Judy Williams. They made a decision, a decision that ended other people's lives. They made a choice well before we arrested them. In a way, what they've done is taken away _our_ choices. Once the crime has been committed, we have to help get justice for the victims. We _have_ to."_

"But we don't always. We let Celia take the blame for killing Trimble. How is that justice?"

"_Tim, there are some places where we can actually make choices, sometimes when real justice is harder to see."_

"But..."

"_I understand, Tim. I really do, and I wish I could make all this clear for you...but it's not clear. It's something you already know, but it's been...buried beneath all this other stuff."_

"Boss...I...I feel so...so stupid."

"_Why?"_

"Because I can't seem to think like a normal human being."

"_That's not the problem, Tim. The problem is that you _did_ think like a normal human being...and now, like a normal human being, you're trying to deal with the fallout."_

"I don't get it."

"_When you get back, we can talk more. I think we've reached the limits of telephone conversation. Besides, I'm no shrink, and I'm sure Dr. Andrews would be more help."_

Tim swallowed. "Boss..." he said tentatively. "At the risk of sounding like a complete imbecile, are you sure that Jethro doesn't f-feel like he's in a cage?"

"_I'm sure, Tim. He won't like it, but he trusts you. He loves you...like all dogs love their owners. It's a dog thing."_

Tim gave a watery laugh.

"_Don't miss your flight for this."_

"I won't. I was early."

"_I'll be there to get you."_

"Thanks...thanks, Boss."

"_Just get back here, Tim. Take things one step at a time. The first step is getting on that plane."_

"Right," Tim said. He took a deep breath. "I can do that."

"_Good. See you in a few hours."_

"Yeah. Thanks, Boss...and..."

"_Don't apologize."_

"Bye."

"_See ya later, McGee."_

Tim hung up and walked back out of his secluded corner, wiping away the tears. He forced himself to sit and wait...and when the boarding call was made about an hour later, he got on the plane.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs hung up with a long sigh. That had been harder than the last call...and he hadn't thought it was possible.

"Boss?"

Gibbs looked up. Tony and Ziva were both staring at him worriedly.

"What's wrong with McGee?" Tony asked.

"Just some backlash."

"From what?" Ziva asked. "From the Grover case?"

"No, before that."

"Then, what?" Tony asked. "He was _crying_, Boss."

Gibbs sighed again. There was no keeping it from Tony and Ziva...and to be honest, if...no, _when_ Tim came back, they'd have to know why he would be kept out of the field for a while, why there would be precautions taken.

"It's residual trauma from being a hostage at the prison."

"He did not seem traumatized by it at the time," Ziva pointed out. "He was fine."

"Yeah. He seemed like he was fine. He wasn't."

"Trauma how? Like...afraid of the prisoners and stuff like that?"

"Like...caring about the prisoners more than about you, DiNozzo."

There was a moment of silence as they digested the implications of the seemingly light response.

"Stockholm Syndrome, yes?" Ziva asked.

"Like Kate and Ari," Tony said softly.

"Not exactly," Gibbs said and then let out the third sigh in as many minutes. "...but probably pretty close."

"What do we do?"

"Wait...and give him the help he needs."

"What help is that?"

"When I've figured that out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, we have work to do." Gibbs stood and remounted the stairs. He still had that meeting with Vance...which had been, ironically, about Tim. At least he could report some progress now...even if it wasn't enough to have him back at work tomorrow.

Tim had survived his vacation...and perhaps made a few strides in the right direction.

Gibbs felt himself want to sigh again. He looked around. He was alone.

He sighed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Gibbs picked Tim up, true to his word. Tim, for his part, had little to say. He was tired but couldn't seem to settle himself until he'd seen Jethro out of the kennel. It was something that he found embarrassing, but something that he couldn't avoid. Gibbs hung around without making an issue of it, just in case the German shepherd actually did resent Tim for forcing him in the cage. He had a feeling that Tim would be hurt by that.

Jethro didn't come out right at first and Gibbs saw Tim's hand hesitate just a bit. Then, with a wide yawn, he ambled out of the kennel...right over to Tim. There was a moment when the two of them just stared at each other and then Tim hugged the dog tightly, hiding his face in Jethro's fur (probably to hide the fact that he was crying), and Gibbs could have sworn he heard Tim thank Jethro more than once.

"You all right, McGee?" he asked gruffly. The scene had unexpectedly touched him and he didn't want to show _that_ to his agent.

Tim sat back, his eyes just a little red, and laughed ruefully. "No. I'm not...but I'm home; so I'm better than I was in Oregon."

"Better is good."

"Yeah. I guess." Tim suddenly seemed to realize the ignominy of his current position: crouched on the floor, holding onto a dog like he was a stuffed animal. He stood up quickly. "Do you want some..." He looked around his apartment, remembering that he hadn't been there for a week. "...water?"

Gibbs laughed. "No, McGee. I don't. I'm fine."

Tim flushed. "I'm sure I have more than water." He walked quickly into the kitchen, opening cupboards.

"Tim," Gibbs said, softly. "I'm fine."

Tim stopped moving abruptly, although his hand continued to grip the knob of one of the cupboards.

"Why do I feel worse now than I did after hitting Tony in the face?"

"Because you've always _wanted_ to punch Tony out?" Gibbs suggested.

"It did feel pretty good," Tim admitted, but his laugh was half-hearted at best. He still didn't turn around. "No, Boss. I thought that...that once I started to...admit that I had a problem that it would get better. I don't really feel any better. I feel worse."

"Facing reality has a way of doing that."

"But what reality am I facing, Boss?" Tim asked. Finally, he turned around, his expression pleading. "Boss, I still don't really get it. I know that what I'm feeling is a problem...a _big_ problem. What I don't know is why I feel that way...why I can't _stop_."

"I told you before that I'm no shrink," Gibbs said, not wanting to answer Tim's question.

"You're here, Boss," Tim said, and he continued, proving that while he was having trouble, he wasn't stupid, "and you obviously know what it is that's wrong with me."

"McGee..."

"Boss, please. I know I have a problem. I know it's dangerous. I know all that. I just don't know exactly what the problem is...or why I have it. Dr. Andrews probably told you. I don't want to be the last one to know what I'm dealing with."

_You nearly are._ "All right. I'm not facing a conversation like this without coffee, though."

Tim smiled. "I must have some in here somewhere."

"We'll get the real stuff."

"Okay." Tim then, remembered Jethro who'd been sitting patiently beside his food dish. "Oh, Jethro! I can't believe I forgot!" He burst into a flurry of activity that ended with Jethro's food and water dishes full to the brim and a now-contented German shepherd eating quickly, Tim scratching his ears.

"Still feeling guilty?"

"No! ...yeah."

"Can you get over that long enough to leave him?" Gibbs asked drily, hoping he would.

Tim smiled and nodded. He stood again and followed Gibbs, almost docilely, out to his car. Tim directed Gibbs to a nearby coffee place which he swore made the best coffee in the Metro area. Gibbs was skeptical, but he decided to follow the instructions.

Once they were there, Gibbs had to admit that it smelled pretty good. However, he didn't want to have the conversation, which he knew would be difficult at best, in such a public area; so they got their coffee to go. Instead of going any of a thousand different locales that popped up in his mind, Gibbs just drove back to Tim's apartment, but they didn't actually go inside. Tim leaned against the hood of the car and stared up at his apartment window...as if it was a prison.

"So...Boss..."

Up to this point, the conversation had been marginal...and not at all important. Now, it was time for the important things. That called for slightly closer proximity...in case Tim had another meltdown. He walked around the car and leaned against it.

"Are you sure you want _me_ to tell you?"

"Who else?"

"Dr. Andrews, who could tell you all the details I don't know."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for details yet anyway." Tim sipped at his coffee and stared out across the street. "You told me that I had to admit to having a problem. I have. Now, help me, Boss. Help me by letting me know exactly what the problem _is_."

"Do you really think it will help?"

"Putting a name to something makes it less frightening." Tim fell silent, but in a way that said he was thinking of something else to say; so Gibbs waited. "When I was a kid, I'd get scared by the sounds I'd hear as the house settled. It was dark, I'd be in bed and every creak and groan seemed like the sound of someone coming in, like monsters hiding in the closet or any other terrifying nightmare. My mom finally had to let me get out of bed and investigate each scary sound. Once I saw that the whistling came from a window that wasn't sealed completely, that the banging was from a loose shutter, that the creak was just my mom and dad walking around on the hardwood floors...then, the sounds weren't frightening anymore." He smiled a bit. "They were still a bit annoying, but at least I knew."

"Dr. Andrews says that you are suffering from the effects of Stockholm Syndrome," Gibbs said, bluntly, hoping that the unequivocal manner of delivering unpleasant news might soften the blow a bit.

Tim said absolutely nothing, not for a long time. He didn't even pretend to drink his coffee. He simply leaned against the car, staring at nothing. Gibbs also said nothing...but he drank his coffee.

_I should have splurged for the larger cup. This was not enough._

"That...that kind of makes...sense," Tim said, his voice very soft. He still wasn't looking anywhere but straight ahead. "So...I really _am_ crazy."

"No, Tim. You're not crazy. According to Dr. Andrews, what happened to you was actually the most natural human reaction to a high stress situation."

"I was only in there for a day. They didn't even hurt me...much."

"Doesn't have to take long."

"I did what they wanted me to do. It was the right thing to do."

"Doesn't mean you weren't scared."

"I was more afraid of the prison guards than I was of them."

"Doesn't change things."

"I didn't want to die."

"I don't blame you."

"I was so glad to get out."

"I don't blame you."

"I couldn't help it, but I thought it...a lot."

"Thought what?"

"It could have been me. I could have been arrested and convicted for killing Det. Benedict. Sarah could have been convicted of murder...only I wouldn't have let that happen. Michelle would have gone to prison for the rest of her life...if she'd lived. It could have been someone like me not wanting my family in danger, not wanting to be killed by guards storming the visitor's center. Or maybe it could have been Sarah. What if, in spite of everything, she was convicted? What if she'd been in a place like that? A situation like that?"

That was a huge part of Tim's problem, Gibbs realized, that empathy he had tried hard to lose. That and the fact that for all his seemingly dull life, Tim had faced down the weaker parts of the justice system more times than most people did...some of that was because of the way Gibbs himself operated, some of it seemed to be his lot in life. Now, with the additional problem of his time as a hostage of prisoners...a prisoner himself in so many ways, he just couldn't deal with all the vagaries that went into the job. It had caused this problem, and Gibbs knew that he could not help Tim with this...not in the right way. He was already doing as much as he could. It just wasn't going to be enough. Tim really _did_ need a shrink.

"That doesn't make you like them, you know."

"I would have killed to keep Sarah safe. If it had come to that, I would have."

"But you didn't."

"I almost killed the guy who murdered Erin."

"Again, you didn't."

"I might have killed Benedict."

"That's the least likely possibility."

"I've crossed the line, Boss. Lots of times."

"So have I. That doesn't mean I think I should be in prison."

"But maybe I should be. Maybe I'm more like them than you think."

"Maybe you're a lot _less_ like them than _you_ think."

"So...is this Stockholm Syndrome, then?" Tim asked.

"I guess so."

"Why is it that this seems...well, not _normal_...but...I feel mostly sane."

"Because you are. Stockholm Syndrome isn't a showing of insanity. It _kept_ you sane in the prison. It's just that there are enough gray areas in what we do, and certainly plenty of them in the last year, that it was...allowed to fester, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Like I said, I'm not an expert."

"I didn't even really realize..."

"Yeah. Neither did I. I should have."

"Boss?" Tim now turned toward Gibbs, his expression earnest, his eyes intent.

"What?"

"Does this...this problem...does it mean that I'm not going to be able to work at NCIS anymore?"

"No. No, Tim, that's not what it means. It means that you'll have to have professional help in getting over it...and then, you'll be back."

"Are you sure?"

_I've never been _less_ sure of anything, Tim. I know what I _want_ to happen, but that doesn't mean that it will. You freaked out over putting your own dog in a kennel. You're comparing yourself to convicted felons. I don't know what it's going to take or how long. I don't know _anything_ about this._

The thoughts flew through Gibbs' mind faster than lightning and he was never more relieved that he was able to hide what he was thinking because, with Tim's eyes on him, he didn't want to reveal his rather hefty doubts about Tim's future.

"If you work at it, Tim. I've never seen you fail at something you really wanted to do."

"You never saw me fence," Tim said and smiled, looking back toward the street. "I never could get the hang of it."

Somehow, that moment of humor and self-deprecation gave Gibbs the hope that he had lacked just a few seconds before.

"This isn't as bad as you think it is, Tim." _Or as bad as I think it is._

"Isn't it?"

"No. Look at this way: you've not only acknowledged that you have a problem, but you're trying already to understand and work at beating it. It took months for this to develop into a major issue. Even while you were wrestling with it, you still did your job and you did it well."

Tim looked down at the ground. "I'm afraid, Boss."

"Of what?"

"Of knowing that my mind is working so differently."

"It's not really, you know. Sure, it's a bit off the rails, but it's still working fine. You will be out of the field for a while."

The protest Tim might have made died unspoken.

"...but you'll be working for me like always, and when you're ready, you'll be back. No questions."

"There _will_ be questions. Tony and Ziva will ask. Abby will ask. Even if they don't ask them out loud, they'll be thinking them," Tim said, head bowed. "_I'll_ be thinking them. The next time a gun is raised...will I be able to stop the shooter or will I freeze like I did with Louisa? If it comes down to someone dying...and I have to choose between a criminal and a teammate, which will I choose? ...because I can tell you right now, Boss, that even though I'd like to think I'd automatically pick a teammate...I might not. I might just freeze...again."

Gibbs couldn't say anything to that at first. It was too much like what he himself was thinking, the questions _he_ was asking about Tim's state of mind. Then, he thought of something else.

"Tim...when I came back from Mexico, what did you think?"

"About what?" Tim asked, raising his head in confusion.

"About me."

"I was glad you were back."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"No qualms?"

"I..." Tim's eyes began the dance they always did when he was uncomfortable. Always moving, never settling on anything, trying to avoid getting in trouble, perhaps?

"I'm not going to reprimand you for something you thought two years ago, Tim."

Tim smiled sheepishly. "It took a while to...get used to working under Tony. He's different from you...and...and you left. You left _all_ of us. It hurt us all in different ways...but then, after a few weeks, we adjusted. Tony was...different and there were some things that bugged me...but he was...was good. But then...suddenly, you were back. Then, you were gone. Then, you were back. I was waiting for you to leave again. I didn't think you'd really stay. Then, when you really _did_ stay...there was...I just wasn't sure anymore. Tony did some good things; you did some good things...but you both did things differently. It was easy to go back to the old way, but...part of me wondered."

"Wondered what?"

"Wondered if you _should_ have come back. It was so...so sudden, so abrupt. You calmly reshuffled everything back to the old order without any thought as to how we felt about it. We were glad you were back, Boss...even Tony. ...but...at the same time, part of me resented it...and for a while I was just waiting...waiting for you to leave yet again, for you to force us into another round of musical desks."

"And now?"

"Now?"

"Yes. Now. Do you still wonder if I'm going to up and disappear? Do you still worry about which way is better? Do you still resent me for coming back?"

"No." The sheepish grin returned, a little more widely. "...although I have to admit to wondering what's going to happen every time Mike Franks shows up."

Gibbs had to smile at that. "I think that would be the case regardless. Mike has that effect."

"Yeah."

"But you see, Tim. Yes, the questions were there. I'm sure in some respect, they'll be there for a long time...maybe even now, you have _some_ questions that you're not admitting to me, but they're not enough to keep you from trusting me, right?"

"I trust you, Boss."

"Good."

"Do you trust me?"

_That's the real question, isn't it. How do I answer this without lying? At this very moment, no, I don't trust you out in the field, but I still trust you and your judgment...if I can get you to _think_. You think twice or maybe three times faster than the rest of us, Tim. You just sometimes turn off that brain in an effort to slow things down...to stop them, to hold back the unpleasantness you might have to face. That's when I don't trust you. How do I say all that in a way you'll actually hear?_

"In the important things, I do."

"Just not in the field?"

"Not right now. _You_ don't trust yourself, Tim."

"No, I don't."

"It'll come. Slowly but surely. It'll come. You just have to work at it."

"I'm meeting with Dr. Andrews tomorrow morning."

"Good. That's a first step."

"I'm not sure I like her."

"Sometimes, it's better that way. You think she'd lie to you for any reason?"

"No."

"That's even better."

Tim smiled. "I'd better take Jethro for his evening walk. Otherwise, he's liable to tear my apartment to pieces."

Gibbs smiled in return. It was a deliberate end to an awkward conversation, but it had gone better than he'd expected.

"See you tomorrow, Boss."

"You'd better."

"I'll be there."

"Good." Gibbs walked back around to the driver's side and watched as Tim made his way back into his building. "You'd better make it, McGee," he said softly as the door closed. "I don't want to think what will happen to you otherwise."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Again, Tim was sitting in the conference room, waiting for Dr. Andrews. He had come in early and had intended to stay at his desk and talk to Tony and Ziva, both of whom he'd missed to a degree that had surprised him. He had considered going down and talking to Abby...or to Ducky and Jimmy in Autopsy. Instead, he'd done none of those things and had withdrawn to his meeting spot, afraid to see them, afraid to admit to them that he was a loony...just like he had no desire to tell his family that he was the main player in a plot worthy of Hollywood. In fact, the longer he'd had to stew about it, the more worried he became. By the time nine o'clock rolled around, he'd been sitting in the conference room for more than two hours, so nervous about speaking to Dr. Andrews that he was nearly tongue-tied.

The door opened slowly, but Tim, on edge as he was, leapt to his feet as soon as the knob turned and he stared at Dr. Andrews with something akin to alarm.

"Good morning, Agent McGee," she said, her voice calm, noncombative.

"G-Good morning, Dr. Andrews," Tim replied, swallowing nervously.

"Have a seat, Agent McGee. Although I appreciate that chivalry is not dead where you're concerned, I have a feeling that it has less to do with respect and more to do with fear at this point. Am I right?"

Tim plopped back down into the seat without answering. It was all he could do not to start chewing on his fingernails.

"I'm not going to feed you to the lions, Agent McGee. I haven't killed a patient yet."

Tim tried to smile.

"Just let me get myself set up. I thought I'd have a bit of time."

"I didn't want to be late," Tim whispered.

"How long have you been in here?"

"Since...about six thirty."

"Agent McGee, you definitely are not late."

Tim watched her get out her note pad and her recorder...and he just jumped right in. "Gibbs told me."

"I assumed as much, based on your behavior when I came in."

"You wanted me to think. I did."

"Good."

"I think I'm nuts."

"You're not."

"Did Gibbs tell you that I almost had a nervous breakdown in the airport?"

"No."

"I was worried about Jethro...my dog. I thought that...that I had forced him into a cage, a prison...and... and I didn't want that for him."

"What did you do?"

"I called Gibbs and started crying like a baby," Tim said, blushing.

"Since when is crying such a problem?"

"It's not...when it's warranted. It's...it wasn't. It was stupid."

"Do you agree with my diagnosis, Agent McGee?"

"Sure."

"Is that a yes or a no? Are you pretending to agree because you think you have to? Or do you really agree?"

"I...don't know."

"Why not?"

Tim looked down at the table. "I don't feel like...I know _anything_."

"Tell me why, Agent McGee," she softly instructed.

"I keep...keep feeling things that are _wrong_. I want to save them, but I can't. What I want to do is _not_ saving anyone. When I forget that, I run the risk of killing myself or someone else. ...and I didn't used to feel this way. I used to...to do my job. Sometimes it sucked, but most of the time..."

"What is it that you're feeling that you consider...wrong?"

"You were right," Tim said, speaking mostly to the table. "I couldn't have stopped someone from killing Tony or Ziva...maybe not even my family. I don't think I'd...I'd hurt them myself, but...but I...I don't think I could have...stopped Louisa...not even if she was threatening Sarah. I feel like I can't do anything...think anything that's right."

"Agent McGee, my purpose in getting you to acknowledge that you have a problem was not to make you think that everything you've done is wrong. It's not even to tell you that you're wrong now."

"But I _am_! I–"

"No, Agent McGee. What you are is someone in need of time to recover. You went to the therapy sessions you had to attend...but you kept working. You didn't take a vacation. You were confronted with a series of ambiguous cases. You also fed your worries, your fears. ...and you suppressed the possibility that there might be any lingering problems from what you experienced."

"I wondered...a couple of times. I...just didn't...didn't want to...think that there might be anything wrong with it. These are people who...who aren't all bad."

"This latest case is illustrative of the problem you face, Agent McGee. It's a case not of willful destruction of human life, but of a mind fractured by who knows what. It's not wrong to see what happened to Louisa Grady as a tragedy. What _is_ wrong is to try and keep her from facing the measure of the law that she could have faced."

"Is that what I was doing?"

"Was it? Was that what you were thinking?"

"No."

"Then, it wasn't."

"But..."

Dr. Andrews smiled and bent her head to the side until she met Tim's downcast eyes. "You're not crazy, Agent McGee. You're not somehow lacking command of your faculties. You are, as I said, in need of time to recover. You _are_ suffering, I think, from the effects of Stockholm Syndrome..._but_ that in no way means that you have no control over yourself, over your mind, your actions. What it means is that, now that we know there's a problem, we can help you face it."

"How?"

"By taking time. You'll be in need of therapy for a while. We can discuss how best to address your problems. You'll also be out of the field."

Tim hated that part, but he nodded, knowing it was necessary. "For how long?"

"As long as it takes."

"How long is that?"

"Agent McGee, you seem to know already that it may be a while."

"I hoped I was wrong."

"You weren't. You'll still be working, of course, but it's in everyone's best interest if we take your return slowly."

"How slowly?"

"As slowly as is necessary."

"Which is?"

Dr. Andrews' mouth twitched. "Do you need an exact time frame?"

"It would be nice."

"I'm sure...but, Agent McGee, you know as well as I do that things like this rarely fit into a specific period."

Tim sighed and slumped. "Yeah, I know." He drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds. "So...now what?"

"Now, we begin."

"I thought we already had."

"We did...and you should know that you've already done quite a bit of the therapy on your own."

"What do you mean?"

"A lot of what this therapy involves is helping the patient realize how his own thought processes have changed. It's more about education than anything else."

Tim lifted his head. "I don't understand."

"You know that you have a problem. You have seen for yourself how far that problem extends, haven't you."

He nodded.

"Sometimes, the hardest thing about helping a person suffering from the effects of Stockholm Syndrome is getting them to acknowledge what happened to them and that it was serious...and that they have been deeply affected by it. You have already done quite a bit of that."

"I have?"

"Yes. That means that our focus is going to be on helping you retrain your mind, to help you get to the point where you _know_ rather than just see what is going on. When you are conscious of how your own mind operates, you can change it. Sounds simple, right?"

"I'm guessing it's not," Tim said, with a hint of a smile.

"No, it's not. It's hard. It takes time, effort. You'll slip occasionally. You'll make more progress. Eventually, you'll be fine...but it will be hard, and you'll have to confront, not only your troubles in this respect, but also the loss of confidence I can see you're also suffering. It's a heavy blow to realize that your own mental faculties are not doing what you think they are."

"Yeah."

"So, we'll work on that. I'll start by telling you in no uncertain terms that you are not crazy and that you are not a hopeless case. Understand?" She smiled.

Tim couldn't help but smile as well.

"That's better. Now, we need to get a schedule set up. That way, your supervisor and Director Vance will be aware of what you'll be doing, how to fit your therapy sessions into your work schedule."

Tim nodded.

"Now, it sounds as though Agent Gibbs is supportive."

"Yes."

"Good. What about your other team members?"

"They...they probably will...be okay."

"You should just tell them, Agent McGee. They do need to know...and it will help you to avoid feeling like you're keeping some deep dark secret from them. Having therapy is not a sign of weakness any more than having a cast on your leg is a sign of weakness. Both are signs of parts of you which are in need of healing. The sooner you accept that, the better, the _easier_ it will be. Understand?"

"Yeah." He agreed with her...in theory. That didn't stop him from worrying about it. She could obviously see it, but she didn't address it. Instead, she sat with him and they worked up a viable schedule which she said she would forward to Director Vance, picking times when she would come to NCIS and times when he would go to her office.

Blunt she might be, but by the time they finished, even the prospect of weeks and weeks of therapy seemed much more businesslike and less fearsome...simply because Dr. Andrews wasn't that kind of person. She wasn't very warm, but he felt that she exuded competency from every pore. She had a job to do and she wanted to make sure that she did it...and did it well. That attitude, treating therapy like something normal, gave him the courage to walk out of the conference room and down to the bullpen. The team was out, but he figured he could wait and tell them. Gibbs had been more than supportive. He'd been there...at times when he didn't need to be. Surely, the others would as well...at least accept that he had a problem and was working on it.

He sat, waiting...trying to be patient. He wasn't feeling it, but he tried to be. They didn't get back for another hour. He started to slouch down behind his monitor when the elevator doors opened.

"McGee!"

He hadn't slouched fast enough. Ziva's voice was surprised but, when he tentatively poked his head around and met her gaze, she was smiling.

"Probie!" Tony still had a substantial bruise on his face from Tim's swing, but he, too, looked happy to see him.

"Hi."

"I didn't know you'd be in today."

"...surprise?" Tim said, feeling more uncomfortable than ever, his courage swiftly leaving him.

"Are you back?"

"I guess so."

"Good."

"Are you sure?" he asked, watching Tony set his bag down...but not sit at his desk. Instead, he perched on the edge of it, giving Tim way too much positive attention.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I did hit you. You're still...bruised."

"Yeah." He grinned. "Do you know how many sympathy points I'm getting with this?"

"None from me," Gibbs said with an emphatic _thwack_. "Anything new, McGee?"

"Um, not...not really." He shifted his gaze from Gibbs to Ziva who had gone to her desk and was sitting in her chair, but still watching him...smiling. He was really worried about what they'd say when he told them what was going on.

"You sure?"

Tim forced a smile. "Nothing you don't already know." He looked at Tony and Ziva again...and noticed that, far from being confused by the cryptic comments, they were merely looking sympathetic. "You both know, don't you. Gibbs told you."

"Yes, McGee. We do."

"You don't seem bothered."

"_I'm_ not."

"Aren't you worried?"

"Should we be?" Ziva asked, now furrowing her brow in confusion.

"How do you know you can trust me anymore? Look what I've already done."

"Why would that even be in question?"

"Yeah. Is Stockholm Syndrome somehow synonymous with alien abduction? Last I checked, you were still Timothy McGee." Tony walked over and lifted Tim's eyelid, examining him as if looking for signs that he was an android or something like that.

Tim batted Tony's hand away. "It really doesn't bother you?"

Tony backed off, but he was completely sincere. "No. No, McGee. It doesn't bother me. We just want you to get better is all." Then, because it was Tony, he added, "We need an extra buffer between us and the boss."

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss."

"Back to work, DiNozzo. McGee, let's go and jump through the hoops to get you on desk duty. I'm not going to depend on _them_ to find what we need."

Tim stood, nodding...and smiling, his smile growing less tentative, more genuine. As he walked up the stairs with Gibbs, he decided that he could do it. He could bear the time it would take, and he could get through it. He took one last glimpse over his shoulder. Ziva glanced up from her work and gave him a thumbs up signal. He grinned and returned it.

Then, he ran to catch up with Gibbs.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Four months later..._

Gibbs hung up the phone and took the stairs to Vance's office, two at a time. As had become the routine, Tim came into the bullpen from his latest session with Dr. Andrews. It seemed as though he was doing really well, but there had been no indications about when he'd be allowed back into the field. He was showing extraordinary patience about it...eager to be there but willing to wait. They didn't discuss his therapy much, and as much as was possible, they avoided making an issue of his...issues. He sat down and began trawling through some data sent down from Intel.

"Good day?" Ziva asked.

Tim looked up and shrugged. "The usual. We're...just talking really most of the time."

"No emotional breakdowns?" Tony asked. "No past lives coming up...or times when your mother locked you in the closet...or..."

"No. I've only had one life and at no time during that life was I locked in the closet." Tim looked down and suppressed a smile as he continued, "I went in there by myself."

"What?"

He'd known that would get a reaction. He looked up, still trying to suppress his grin. "The closet is a nice place to think...especially when you have a nosy little sister who doesn't like the smell of your sneakers." He let the grin out and then went back to work.

The elevator dinged. "Timmy!" Abby said, her voice already wheedling.

"I'm doing some stuff for Intel, Abbs," Tim replied. "I can't."

"Come on, Tim! I'm swamped right now! I'll make it up to you."

Tim looked up and eyed her speculatively. "How?"

Her eyes danced with a wicked gleam...and Tim blushed.

"Ooh, I think the Probie's got a date!"

"Only if he survives not doing his work."

"Shut up, guys," Tim mumbled, ducking his head behind the monitor to hide his red face.

Abby sauntered over and began whispering in his ear, causing said ear (along with the other one) to turn red also.

"Got a body out at Anacostia," Gibbs said, reentering the bullpen. Tony and Ziva stood, gathering their bags. Abby was now pulling Tim physically out of the chair. He wasn't putting up much resistance. He'd barely paid attention to Gibbs' command. He'd inured himself to not going into the field with the team...mostly. ...and Abby was a worthy distraction.

"McGee, where are you going?" Gibbs asked.

Abby let go of Tim's arm so suddenly that he almost crashed to the floor. "Um..._not_ down to help Abby?"

"Are you or are you not on my team?"

"I am, Boss...but..."

"Then, grab your stuff and let's go!"

Tony and Ziva both paused in their motion toward the elevator. Tim stared at Gibbs in surprise.

"Really?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No...but..."

"Then, let's go!"

"Now?" Tim asked. "Are you...sure?"

"It's been four months, McGee. How much longer do you _want_ to sit around?"

Tim gave Gibbs a searching glance and finally found the glint of humor...and of encouragement...and outright relief which were present in his eyes.

With a smile that was almost disbelieving, Tim grabbed his bag from the floor by his desk. He smiled at Abby who motioned him to keep moving. She looked so ecstatic for him that he'd probably be knocked to the ground by a hug when he got back. As he moved past Gibbs, he was slowed by a hand on his arm. He stopped and looked back.

"This is a trial run, McGee. You have _any_ problems, you tell me. Got it?"

Tim deflated just a little. "Of course, Boss."

Gibbs' mouth quirked in an almost smile. "I don't think you will, Tim. You've been ready for weeks."

"You think so, Boss?"

"Don't you?"

Tim considered that...and then, nodded. "Yeah. I do. I just didn't want to think about it because I would have been impatient."

"If _you_ think so, and _I_ think so...I think you'll be just fine."

Then, he strode past Tim, beating even Tony and Ziva to the elevator.

"You guys don't get a move on, I'll make you walk!"

They all ran together and hopped on just as the doors began to close. For all that Tim had been left behind for much of the last four months, for all that this had begun with a brief fracturing of the team, for all that...the most far-reaching effect of Tim's problems, his therapy and recovery had been a strengthening of the bonds between them all. The potential loss had made the recovery that much more precious.

It was hard to tell whose smile was biggest.

FINIS!


End file.
